#shadowy encounters | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

exorcxqsm · 6 months ago

Text

You always belonged with me.

word Count: 4,6k

tags - WARNINGS: mdni, reader isn’t the lnds!mc, explicit sexual content, ooc Sylus (how his myth could be in my head), toxic relationship, b/egging, f!receiving oral, p in v, unprotected sex, non-sexual choking, spanking, creampies, use of pet names (kitten, sweetie, angel), dirty talking, sylus refers to reader's pussy as "she"

Extra Warning: This story contains altered religious themes and biblical references that may lead me to hell. If you are religious or uncomfortable with the prospect of such writing, please, for your own sake, do not proceed with this story. Consider yourself warned.

Centuries ago, you were banned from stepping foot in the place you once called home. You would do anything to return, and tonight was your chance to try your last resort: the man who had damned you to this position in the first place.

It wasn’t the first time you felt the unsettling sensation of being followed while navigating the N109 Zone. This place was notorious for its shadows—every corner seemed to harbor someone lurking, ready to pry into the lives of others.

You had grown accustomed to this unease; after all, this had been your home for years, both before and after the catastrophe that left the area hollow and desolate. In the aftermath, people became harsher, their kindness stripped away by the events that reshaped the lives of everyone in the zone.

Your feet carried you into one of the bars at the far end of town. You couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle at the absurdity of a security guard standing at the door. Everyone knew this wasn’t a typical nightclub—not that anything here could be considered “normal.” This establishment had a reputation as a bloodbath. The guards weren’t there to ensure anyone's safety of course, except for one man: The leader of Onychinus.

Onychinus was a mysterious faction entrenched in the N109 Zone. Unlike other shady groups, they were omnipresent, weaving a vast web of corruption that controlled every illegal activity within the area.

Sylus was not just the head of this dangerous organization; he was regarded as the ruler of the entire underworld. Whispers of his cruelty and insatiable thirst for power circulated like a broken record, echoing through the streets.

People were terrified of him, yet he intrigued many. Tales circulated about his almost supernatural presence—more than just a human leader, he was said to command the night with his sinfully crafted horns and shadowy wings that cast an ominous veil over the town, keeping it cloaked in darkness twenty-four hours a day.

Imagination was a double-edged sword; it could inspire or deceive. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes every time you overheard whispers about Sylus—tales that veered more towards horror folklore than reality.

The guard fixed his gaze on you, waiting for your entry pass to the club—or, more accurately, the colosseum that lay hidden beneath it. You brushed aside the blonde locks of your wig, letting the brooch of the zone glimmer against your dress, perched just above your chest.

His scrutinizing look was intense, and you could almost sense the gears turning in his mind. “How come I haven’t seen you here before?”

You maintained an expressionless facade, keeping your tone steady under his interrogation. You hoped that the extensive alterations to your appearance—from the wig and colored contacts to your evol that allowed you to adopt features from those you encountered—would obscure any resemblance to the posters plastered throughout the N109 Zone. The bounty on your head had sent ripples of tension through the underworld, but you felt surprisingly calm.

“I usually don’t have to watch business unfold, but tonight is special. You know what I mean.”

His eyes widened in surprise at the implication of your words, and without another word, he stepped aside to grant you entry. As you passed him, a sigh of relief escaped your lips. You silently thanked whatever entity governed fate that your deception had gone unnoticed. It was all too easy to make someone believe in your power when you wore the brooch of Onychinus and spoke the right lingo about their underground dealings.

Technically, you didn’t own the brooch; it was stolen. Yet, perched on your chest, it pretty much seemed yours now. You needed access to the inner workings of the N109 Zone, and now you had it—thanks to a clever ruse involving a brief fainting spell in Luke’s arms, where you knew he kept his brooch tucked beneath the leather of his uniform.

As you navigated through the thrumming crowd, the same unsettling sensation crept over you—the feeling of being watched. The intensity of the gaze made you squirm, though you weren’t afraid. Still, you weren’t naive enough to believe that things couldn’t escalate quickly in this dangerous territory, especially while carrying a stolen item belonging to one of the leader’s henchmen.

Scanning your surroundings, you located the secret passage that led downstairs, directly to the imposing double doors of the hidden colosseum. This was a place where fights occurred every night—not just any fights, but brutal spectacles centered around bets on altered and modified wanderers.

Once, this arena served as a testing ground for a wanderer’s limits, but it had devolved into chaos when the underworld began modifying protocores. They injected these enhancements into creatures, unleashing them to tear each other apart in front of a bloodthirsty audience.

The spectators were all too aware that most wanderers were not contained within the arena. For many, death was an inevitable risk they accepted when they chose to witness these horrific displays. People entered with a significant chance of never leaving.

Those who did survive not only walked away richer, based on the wanderers they had bet on, but so did the modifiers. Yet, the one truly profiting from these nights was Sylus. He monopolized the protocores, wielding an unparalleled influence over the creatures, ensuring they possessed the strength necessary to dominate any other fighters.

He was never present during the fights, always lurking in the shadows. You needed to draw him out, for he possessed something you desperately wanted—something you needed.

So, here you sat at the front, betting everything you had on a wanderer from a mysterious modifier who remained anonymous. The bet managers had eyed you curiously when you placed such a substantial amount of gold on a creature that wasn’t one of Sylus’s creations, especially from someone unknown.

You forced yourself to relax your shoulders and crossed your legs as the announcement echoed through the arena, signaling that the fight was about to commence. The massive bars on the left side creaked open first, revealing a wanderer from Onychinus. It emerged like a beast from the depths of hell, its massive form glowing a menacing red beneath its bark-like exterior.

Then, the bars on your side opened, and the arena fell into a tense silence, punctuated only by a few gasps. From the darkness stepped a lone human. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the imminent clash as you waited for the wanderer to attack your chosen fighter.

Snickers rippled through the crowd when the human not only failed to evade the incoming assault but instead stumbled back, his head slamming against the ground with a dull thud.

The impact caused the injected formula to rupture, and in that moment, the modified essence surged through him, transforming his body into a near-giant, nearly matching the size of the opposing wanderer. Veins on his bare skin glowed a fierce red, and his pupils elongated into slits reminiscent of a cat's, radiating an intensity that resembled molten lava.

Showtime.

It didn’t take long for Onychinus’s creation to be shredded to pieces, your chosen fighter standing triumphantly atop the remnants of what had once been a formidable wanderer.

A tense silence enveloped the crowd, and no one dared to breathe as you rose from your seat and made your way toward the exit. Just before stepping out, you turned to lock eyes with the victor in the arena, whispering softly yet confidently, knowing he could hear you clearly.

"Such a good job.”

The night air was brisk against your bare back, your dress clinging to your figure and leaving little to the imagination as you walked down the narrow alleys of the town. You could almost feel the moment the atmosphere shifted, a new energy surrounding you.

A smirk crept onto your lips as you heard the steady, heavy footsteps approaching from behind.

You turned your head slightly, speaking over your shoulder to give him only a glimpse of your profile and your back.

“At last, we meet again.”

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, his broad shoulders shaking with amusement as his gaze roamed over your form. You could alter your appearance as much as you wished, but he would never forget the sound of your voice. Yet, he seemed to struggle with the reality of facing you after all this time.

“Let me see you, sweetie,” he said, his voice deeper than you remembered, yet still carrying that velvety, sultry tone.

You turned to face him fully, crossing your arms over your chest. With a slight tilt of your head, you took in his figure. He had changed significantly over the centuries. He stood taller, with broader shoulders, and his muscles strained against the dress shirt he wore. His white hair, once reaching his waist, was now cut close to his scalp, with only the front strands long enough to fall messily over his forehead.

Sylus clicked his tongue in mild annoyance. “The real you.”

“I’ve changed,” you replied, your tone clipped and resolute.

He took measured steps toward you, closing the distance until you found yourself craning your neck to meet his gaze. His eyes lingered on your face, absorbing every detail. “I haven’t seen you in forever…” he whispered, his voice calm yet filled with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

Before you could react, his hand shot out, grasping your wig and yanking it away, allowing your natural hair to cascade down your back. “Don’t mistake our time apart as a reason for me to forget every single detail about you, kitten.”

You tried to steady your breathing, striving to appear unaffected by his words. Not once did you break eye contact with him as you allowed the energy of your evol to envelop you, restoring your true features and washing away the alterations that felt like long-forgotten memories.

Sylus’s eyes darkened slightly as he took you in, his hand rising to brush his knuckles against your jaw with a featherlight touch. “I believe you have something that belongs to me.” His gaze shifted to the brooch resting on your dress.

“So do you,” you replied, your words drawing his attention away from the stolen item on your chest. His brows furrowed into a small frown as he struggled to comprehend your statement.

Something clicked in his mind then, and he seized your hand, forcefully lifting it to inspect your wrist. There it was—the one symbol he himself wore, deeply carved into your skin. It glowed an angry carmine, signaling your fall from grace.

A huff escaped his lips as he locked eyes with you again. “Is this the reason you pulled that little stunt back there? You thought I wouldn’t find out about you being the mysterious modifier you placed a bet on?”

“This—” you seethed, leaning closer to him, your frustration palpable, “is your fault. I need to get back, Sylus. This isn’t where I’m supposed to be.”

“Oh?” His smirk turned diabolical as he pressed his chest against yours, his face inches from yours. “And where exactly are you supposed to be, sweetie? By his side?”

Your patience wore thin. “Yes.”

A deep chuckle erupted from his throat, devoid of any humor. “His little angel. Tell me, did you think of him, too, when you were clenching around my cock, as if you couldn’t live without me?”

Your gasp shattered the silence of the night, followed by the sharp crack of your slap against his cheek. “That was a mistake. You were a mistake, Sylus.”

His eyes shifted, the warm carmine hue darkening to an abyssal black, all warmth evaporating from his gaze. “I was?”

You didn’t respond to him immediately, taking a step back to regain some semblance of control over the situation. You struggled to keep your voice steady. “I need to get back, and you’re going to help me, Sylus. What we—what I did was a mistake, and I can’t let it keep me away from home.”

Sylus turned his head away, closing his eyes, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as amusement wrinkled the skin at the edges of his gaze. “Was it really your home, sweetie?”

“It was. Just as it was yours, once upon a—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” In an instant, he was back in front of you, his hand tightening around your throat. The burning symbol on his wrist glowed vividly, exposed by the way his cuff had ridden up during the movement. “That place was never my home. He never wanted me there; He only wanted to control me.”

“You’re wrong.” Your voice came out strained under the pressure of his grip, yet you didn’t flinch or attempt to remove his hand. “He loves you.”

“Is that why he banished me, hmm? Because he loves me?” His tone turned harsh, slicing through the air like a blade. “Does he love you as well? Is his love for you what sent you falling right after me?”

Your breathing grew erratic, each word he spoke igniting a fire on your own wrist. The more you allowed his words to penetrate your defenses, the more intense the burning sensation became. “We defied him, Sylus. You betrayed him most of all; you are the only reason you’ve fallen.”

His grip on your throat tightened to the point where you had to part your lips to draw in a breath. “Is this what you really believe, sweetie? The fallen angel, scorched by his own sins, sealing his fate away from his brother’s home.”

His eyes narrowed into slits, and you instinctively reached up to wrap your fingers around his wrist, struggling against the pressure crushing your windpipe. “I didn’t think you’d be as naive as them.”

“Sylus…” It was difficult to speak now; tears threatened to spill from your eyes. As if he had just realized the extent of the pressure he was applying, he relaxed his grip slightly, allowing you a precious gulp of air. “He can still forgive you. You just never sought him out.”

“You shouldn’t either, angel.” His thumb crept slowly toward your bottom lip, caressing it with a tenderness that felt foreign to his nature. “Do you forget all the times you sought me out? You've always known where your true home lies—by my side. You were always meant to fall with me. Fall for me.”

“No!” You struggled to squirm away from his grasp, desperate to create some space between you. Nothing was ever easy with him. All he needed to do was utter the right words, the incantation that could undamn you, granting you entry back into Heaven without the mark of eternal sin burning your skin.

He seemed almost pleased to see you after all those centuries apart, still trapped down here, far from the place you both once called home. You had foolishly fallen into his sinful embrace, and in doing so, had condemned yourself. He had welcomed you into his own home, promising you a place beside him on his throne, where you would truly belong—with him.

“Speak the words, damn it!” Your voice was nearly a plea as you struggled against him, but he was growing stronger by the second, and he had no intention of letting you go again.

“You don’t belong with him, sweetie. Don’t you see?” His breathing was calm, almost effortless, as he kept you trapped in his grip. “I would never abandon you like he did.”

“I sinned,” you breathed out, feeling yourself pressed completely against his body as he maneuvered you, forcing your back against the cold surface of the alley wall.

His taut form pressed against yours in all the right ways, his head dipping down to find your pulse point, nibbling at the sensitive skin there. Your breath hitched, and you closed your eyes, overwhelmed by a mix of shame and desire.

“Is this a sin, angel?” His teeth grazed your neck, and you instinctively placed your hands on his chest, attempting to push him away. “Your body was made to provide you with pleasure, so tell me… Why is this a sin?”

A whimper escaped your lips as he emphasized his question by sucking on your skin, his hips pressing forward to brush against your abdomen with his slowly hardening erection. The symbol on your wrist felt like it was igniting, the heat intensifying with every movement he made. “Sylus—”

“Shh… You’ve talked enough.” In an instant, his lips were on yours, a surprised gasp escaping you. He seized the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, his hands finding their way to the back of your head, pulling you deeper into the kiss.

As you surrendered to the moment, you sensed a shift in your peripheral vision. When you tried to pull away to catch your breath, your eyes widened in awe at the sight transforming before you, your mouth falling open.

Sylus’s carmine eyes began to glow, a tearing sound echoing through the alley as massive black wings unfurled from his back, their feathers cascading down to the ground beside his shoes. Your heart swelled with a mix of awe and longing, unable to recall the last time you had seen him like this.

Your pupils dilated, drinking in the striking transformation. His wings, once the purest of whites, had morphed into a dark, charcoal hue, contrasting sharply with his blood-red eyes. Despite the sharp edges of his new form, he remained what everyone described him as; the most beautiful angel of all.

Before you could fully process the shift in the air, his lips were on you again, his hands roaming down your body with an urgency that took your breath away. You had half a mind to pull away, but the heat radiating from your skin was intoxicating. One of his palms settled against the back of your thigh, lifting it until it wrapped around his waist, granting him access to grind against your clothed cunt.

A deep groan rumbled from his throat, and you swallowed it into the kiss, your own moan echoing softly into the night. His head dipped lower, his mouth closing around your breast, the fabric of your dress quickly becoming damp with his saliva. He seemed ravenous, impatience evident in his every movement as he nipped at the fabric, sending jolts of pleasure through you that made your back arch, pushing your breasts further into his eager mouth.

“Sylus…” you moaned, your voice almost breathless, the night taking a turn you hadn’t anticipated when you first stepped into that colosseum.

“I can feel you soaking through my pants, angel,” he grunted into your chest, his hips driving into you once more. “You came here to ask me to deliver you back to him, yet you’re dripping all over me.”

His tone was possessive and almost feral as he threaded his fingers to the neckline of your dress, pushing it down until it rested beneath your breasts, exposing your skin to his eager lips. He began to lap his tongue over your nipple, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you.

Impatience bubbled within you, your body writhing and squirming against him and the wall as you struggled to make a decision. This was a mistake you had made before, one that had cost you your place in Heaven, yet you couldn't bring yourself to ask him to stop when your entire being buzzed with the pleasure only he could provide.

His white locks brushed against your collarbone, a teasing sensation that made you shiver. You seized the opportunity to tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer even as you tried to push him away, the conflicting desires overwhelming you.

“Don’t deny me.” Sylus’s voice dripped with lust as he locked his glowing eyes onto yours, then fell to his knees, lifting your leg over his shoulder. He positioned himself perfectly in front of your clothed cunt, his presence filling the narrow alley. “Embrace me."

“I—” You were breathless, your legs trembling as you took in the sight of him, the way his eyes glowed like embers in the darkness and how his wings loomed large behind him, dominating the space. It was impossible to resist him, yet a flicker of resolve still burned within you. “I can’t, Sylus. He—”

Before you could finish your sentence, he growled, his tongue darting out to tease your panties, and you buckled, a scream tearing from your throat as pleasure shot through you, leaving you gasping.

He glided his fingers along your damp underwear, the soft fabric clinging to you as he brought them up to show you how much they glistened with your arousal. “How dare you speak his name when she’s crying for me?”

You felt as if you were burning, heat radiating from every inch of your body as he tore the fabric with one powerful tug, leaving you bare before him. “Let me remind you what it felt like, sweetie.”

His mouth was on your cunt before you could catch your breath, his tongue lapping eagerly at your folds, devouring you like a man starved. “Such a sweet pussy, angel.”

You mewled and moaned in a symphony of pleasure, your senses overlapping until all that existed was the way his teeth grazed your clit and how his mouth enveloped you completely. The warmth of his breath against your skin sent shivers down your spine as you ground your hips against his face, seeking the delicious friction of his nose against your sensitive bud while he pushed his tongue deep into your welcoming heat.

“Sylus, please…” You didn’t even know what you were begging for, but he did. With a swift motion, he brought one hand up, slipping a finger inside you alongside his tongue. “Ah—Oh my God!”

Just as quickly as his mouth and finger were there, they vanished, and when you tried to protest, a yelp escaped your throat as a sudden stinging heat greeted your pussy. Your hand flew up to cover your mouth when he slapped you again, the sound echoing in the dimly lit alley, your body doubling over as you nearly lost your balance. It was only his wings that moved toward you, enveloping you in a soft, feathery sanctuary, steadying you against the cool, rough wall behind.

The tone of his voice was a stark contrast to the gentle caress of his wings as he spoke, a low growl rumbling from deep within. “Calling out his name when you’re begging for me?”

Your eyes widened in shock as the realization of what you’d done washed over you, and your hands instinctively tangled in Sylus’s silken white locks, guiding his face toward where you craved him most once again. “I’m sorry, Sylus, ‘m so sorry…”

Another sharp slap echoed in the air, and you felt an almost overwhelming wave of pleasure surge through you, making you believe you could reach your peak from that sensation alone.

Your frustration simmered as you watched him rise from the ground, his full height towering over you, but relief flooded you when you saw him begin to tug at his belt, loosening his pants around his hips, though they remained on.

Without thinking, your hands rushed to the fabric, desperate to rid him of it, but Sylus only smacked your hand away. His mouth found your neck once more, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered, “Do you want me to take you, sweetie?”

“Please—”

“Do you want me to corrupt you like I did back then?” His teeth grazed your delicate skin, igniting a mix of pain and pleasure that made you cry out. “You came to my altar once, and now you can’t seem to get enough, can you?”

You hadn’t realized the tears streaming down your cheeks, a blend of overwhelming emotions and bliss, until Sylus’s tongue lapped beneath your eyes, capturing each drop. With a swift motion, he freed his cock from the confines of his pants, rubbing it against your entrance. “You can trick your foolish heart into believing you hate me. That you want to go back, but deep down, you know I am your home.”

He finished his sentence with one sharp thrust, his cock fully seated inside you. A loud moan escaped your lips, and you could swear someone would come searching the alley, finding you pressed against the wall, Sylus’s cock shattering any remaining sense of sanity you had left.

He set a relentless pace, barely allowing you time to adjust as you felt your walls clench around him, as if he were your lifeline and you were desperate to pull him inside you forever.

“Shit…” His groans came freely, raw and unrestricted, as he continued to fuck you against the wall. “I’ve missed you so much, angel.” He peppered your face with open-mouthed kisses, and your head tilted back, eyes crossing from the overwhelming pleasure.

“I—missed you too, Sy—” You struggled to form coherent words, your thoughts a jumbled mess of moans and whines, until the sound of approaching footsteps jolted you out of your blissful trance. You froze in Sylus’s arms, but your body reacted instinctively, clenching around him in a way that made his rhythm stutter for a moment.

He looked at you with a frown, but as he heard the footsteps, his smirk returned, and he picked up his pace. You gasped when you realized how close someone was, mere steps away from where Sylus was fucking you against the wall. His thrusts grew harder, his wings flaring out and slapping against the ground with the force of his movements.

“Sylus! Someone—” You tried to stifle your moans, but he was so deep that you could feel him pressing against your cervix, his hands gripping your hips with a force that would surely leave marks. “S-someone’s coming-”

No matter how alarming your voice sounded, there was no mistaking the way your walls squeezed his cock with each syllable. His eyes rolled back as he pressed a passionate kiss to your lips, whispering against them,

“You’re squeezing me dry, sweetie.” He breathed harder, his hand slipping down to play with your clit, drawing a cry from your lips that you couldn’t contain. “Does it excite you? The thought of someone coming along and seeing you like this?”

Your brain turned to mush under his double assault—his cock filling you completely and his finger teasing your pulsating clit. You struggled to hold onto yourself, but every brush against that sweet spot inside you sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, leaving you quivering.

“Do you want someone to catch you bouncing on my cock, angel? A sweet little creature making a mess on the Fallen Angel?” His thrusts became more animalistic, and in the haze of pleasure, you didn’t even notice that no one was nearing your hiding place anymore. Sylus kept pushing your sanity. “If only they knew that my cock was the reason you lost your own wings in the first place."

Your orgasm hit you like a bolt of lightning, your vision going white as you felt your pussy flutter and clench impossibly hard around Sylus’s cock.

“Fuck,” he groaned, losing control as his hips retracted slightly before plunging back in, chasing his own sweet release. “Just like that, sweetie, give it all to me.”

Your thighs trembled around him, your body on the brink of surrender as you felt his last vestiges of control shatter.

Ropes of thick come filled you, coating your walls while his wings enveloped your body, sheltering you from anyone who might intrude and keeping you impossibly close. He continued until you were overflowing with his seed, leaking down your joined bodies, creating a mess on both of you, your moans echoing in the silence.

“You feel like Heaven, sweetie. Too bad you won’t be making it back.”

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ladybirdswritings · 2 months ago

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LITTLE WITCH, FIC — xaden riorson x reader.

DESCRIPTION: you wake— a captive girl with untamed power and no recollection of its origins. before you is a scarred, shadowy figure, whose taunts ignite your abilities—binding your fates in a dangerous encounter. NOTES - fourth wing fic!! leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | next part

one;

“Wake her up.”

Water. Cold as ice, constricting your rigid bones like snakes coiling tighter with every stolen shiver.

A gasp tore from your throat, water spewing from your lungs as your body heaved against the jagged floor. Your eyes fluttered open, disjointed memories playing like a fragmented reel in your mind.

“Her power exceeds that of every living vernin on this planet!”

“Promise me you’ll fix this, darling.”

Promise me. Promise me. Promise me.

You blinked hard, but the image didn’t fade.

You were tied.

The rough ropes bit into your bony wrists, leaving searing, ring-like burns. Every labored movement set your nerves aflame. Your gaze darted upward, breath hitching as the world slowly came into focus.

A girl stood above you, silver-dipped hair framing a weary, glaring face. Beside her, a man with raven-black hair and a severe jaw hovered like a dark sentinel, his pale skin nearly glowing in the dim light.

And then there was him.

A scar slashed across one onyx eye, his expression cold and unreadable. Caramel skin adorned with swirling ink that climbed every visible inch of him. His presence suffocated the room, shadows pooling at his feet as if he commanded them.

You inhaled sharply.

“Do you think she speaks English?” the girl asked, her voice wary.

Your wide eyes locked onto her as you pulled against your restraints, panic rising. The three of them stepped back in weary unison.

“Be calm.” His voice—low, smooth, commanding—cooed like a bird singing a song only you could dance to. It scraped against the fragile walls of your resolve, but you clung to the shreds of your sanity.

Your eyes darted around, desperate to piece together this fractured reality. You tried to speak, tried to form an identity, but your name—your very sense of self—slipped through your fingers like quicksand.

“You have me tied,” you rasped, the words tasting foreign in your mouth.

Another synchronized step back.

“Xaden…” the silver-haired girl’s voice was cautious, her eyes glassy with an emotion you couldn’t yet name. But it was fervent, pulsing. You could sense it.

Lust. Love. Betrayal.

The man— Xaden’s jaw ticked, his gaze piercing as it lingered on you.

“We’ve already discussed this,” he said, his voice devoid of hostility but heavy with finality. “Take her, Garrick. I’ll handle the girl.”

She only bristled at his words, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. “You lost the right to give me orders when you—”

“I’m well aware, Violence.” His voice cracked with strain, the facade of calm splintering for just a moment.

The girl—Violence—swayed slightly, but her resistance faltered. With a deep, resigned exhale, Garrick gently guided her out of the room.

And then it was just you.

As the door slammed shut, Xaden’s features transformed. The fleeting agony that had marred his face dissolved into a cold mask, his expression as unreadable as the void of shadows around him.

His gaze roamed over you, scrutinizing every inch with an intensity that made your skin crawl. When he was satisfied, he dropped to one knee before you, the motion deliberate and predatory.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice low, as if any louder would break you. As if you were a precious thing, needing to be preserved. And though he asked you for it, you had a fleeting sense that he already knew.

He was testing you.

Your trembling hands tugged at the ropes, panic stabbing through your mind. A flash of white burned behind your eyes—a memory.

A woman with electric blonde hair and a gaze colder than ice stared down at you. You were tied, gagged, and helpless.

“Shall I strike her again, General Sorrengail?”

The memory vanished as pain lanced through your wrists, the ropes burning like scorched iron. Your teary gaze met his, desperation clawing at your chest.

“Please untie me,” you begged, voice raw and jagged.

His head tilted slightly, but he didn’t so much as twitch. “I can’t do that.”

Your breath quickened, chest heaving as your head fell back against the pole that anchored you. The room blurred, warmth suddenly flooding your cheeks.

When your eyes snapped open, he was closer. His thumb brushed away the tears streaking your face, his touch surprisingly gentle. Shadows coiled tighter around you, suffocating yet oddly soothing.

“What’s your name?” he repeated, his thumb grazing your trembling lips as if trying to still them.

“I… I don’t remember,” you whispered.

His brows knit together, his silence heavier than words. For a moment, his gaze softened, as if he saw something tethered within you he’d searched to find for a millenia.

You’re coddling her.

A voice, unfamiliar and swelled with a power you found yourself connected to— it sounded throughout the confines of your mind. And then another voice. His voice.

Trust me, Sgaeyl.

And yet his lips did not move, set in a hard line. Perhaps you had a name, and the world had simply forgotten. Who gave any attention to the sick and mad? To those who had phantom voices roaming within the confines of their skull? Suddenly, like a curtain falling, his expression hardened again. He rose to his full, imposing height, towering over you like a specter.

“Get up,” he commanded, voice sharp enough to slice you in two.

“I’m tied,” you protested, voice trembling.

His eyes narrowed. “Get up and face me, and I’ll free you from all your binds.”

Hope fluttered in your chest, fragile and fleeting. You braced yourself, using the pole for support, and pushed. Your legs buckled instantly, sending you crashing back down.

Again.

And again.

By the eighth attempt, your knees were raw, your wrists throbbing, and your patience gone.

“You’re trying to humiliate me,” you hissed, glaring up at him.

“It seems to be working,” he said with a ghost of a smirk that made your blood boil.

Something stirred deep within you, a dormant fire roaring to life. His words, his condescension—they fed it like kindling to a flame.

“Aiming to embarrass ourselves today, are we?” he taunted, his voice dripping with mockery.

The fire ignited.

“Let me go.”

Your voice was guttural, commanding, a force that reverberated through the room like a shockwave.

And time stopped. Only for a moment, but even so. Still, not a life in sight daring to breathe. Sudden, suffocating, swelling.

Then over.

Xaden dropped to one knee, his hands moving to untie your restraints as if compelled by an unseen force. His breath hitched as the ropes fell away, but the closeness of him—the warmth of his hands against your bloodied wrists—froze you in place.

He leaned in, his forehead brushing against yours, his breath mingling with your own in a dangerous dance.

“Look at that… we’ve finally found you, little witch…” he murmured, his voice a dark promise.

And somehow, you knew him then. Even free from all memory, you knew well that whoever he was— he was just beginning to unravel you.

#xaden riorson fic #xaden riorson fanfic #xaden riorson smut #xaden riorson imagine #xaden riorson x reader #xaden x reader #fourth wing xaden #xadenviolet #violet and xaden #xaden riorson #xaden and sgaeyl #violet sorrengail #fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #onyx storm fanfic #onyx storm #iron flame fanfic #iron flame

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morganaawriterr · 1 month ago

Text

Bite me; Sunghoon

SYNOSPSIS ➺ You wrestle with the shocking truth about Sunghoon's true nature after a dangerous encounter in the woods. The tension between you two grows, and your deepening connection pulls you both into a dangerous web of secrets, emotions, and desires. Sunghoon is torn between protecting you and controlling his overwhelming attraction, leading to a complicated and seductive path that neither of you can escape.

PAIRING ➺ fem!reader X vampire!park Sunghoon

GENRE ➺ Suggestive; a tiny bit of fluff; a tiny bit of thriller (?) sunshine!reader x grumpy!sunghoon trope (?)

WORDS ➺ 5k

WARNINGS ➺ mentions of blood; injuries; sucking blood; sexual themes; violence; cursing; overall 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE ➺ I LITERALLY FORGOT I HAD TO POST THIS TODAY OMG! But here it is! I used to really like this story, but I don't anymore. It always happens when I spend way too many hours editing it over and over again. But anyways.... As always, likes and reblogs are always welcome. Thank you <3 Masterlist

“What are you doing here?” a deep voice demands from behind you. You quickly turn around, disoriented, and are faced with the reason you’re in the dark forest late at night—Sunghoon.

You’re confused about how he found you, as you were at least five minutes behind him. He stands tall in front of you, dressed entirely in black and visibly upset. His thick eyebrows nearly touching and his lips pressed into a thin line. Crossing his arms, he stares at you, waiting for an answer.

Amazed, you scan the man in front of you, who looks particularly striking under the full moon. His pale skin is even more pronounced, with deep blue veins visible on his long neck and slender hands. His eyes are darker than usual, and you swear they’ve changed color. He also seems more confident now, his tall figure looming over you like a heavy curse you can’t escape.

“Do I have to ask you again?” Sunghoon questions, stepping closer. Suddenly, he’s too near, his cologne invading your senses—manly and intoxicatingly seductive.

“I…” you stutter, your brain failing you. “I came because of you. I saw you sneaking into the forest all week and wondered what you were doing…” you confess, your eyes darting over his face but avoiding his gaze.

The first time you noticed was when you were distracted, searching for the crow that usually perched near your bedroom window. Your curious eyes were meticulously scanning the area when you spotted a figure disappearing into the shadowy woods.

You were confused, thinking you’d imagined it, but the next day, it happened again. The most bewildering part was that it was Sunghoon—the hot guy who lived next door. Your crush. You haven’t spoken much, but you always make it a point to say goodnight when you catch him outside.

“And why would you think that’s a good idea?” Sunghoon asks, his voice sharp and annoyed.

Sunghoon doesn’t understand why you’re always so smiley and talkative toward him. He hasn’t given you any signs that he wants to engage. Yet you persist, greeting him on the street and bringing him food your mom makes too much of.

To his luck—or misfortune—your bedroom window is directly across from his. Sunghoon often catches glimpses of you walking around in your underwear, and though he feels guilty, his eyes linger before he forces himself to look away or closes his curtains.

“You keep disappearing into the woods. I’ve been watching for days,” you say seriously. “I was curious to know what’s going on.” Your voice drops, guilt creeping in as you realize you’ve crossed a boundary.

Sunghoon scratches the back of his neck nervously. He doesn’t want to tell you why he’s always here; he barely knows you. As he debates what to say, the soft rustle of leaves captures his attention. His ears twitch, and his dark, hypnotic eyes scan the forest. All his senses are on high alert—a bad sign.

Sunghoon steps forward, grabs your wrist, and pulls you behind him. His grip is tight, and you want to complain, but the seriousness in his eyes sends a chill down your spine.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, confused, as his cold, bony fingers keep a firm hold on you. His protective instincts flare, sensing danger.

“Shhh,” he hushes, his voice low.

His piercing gaze sweeps the forest until a tall man steps into view. The man is dressed in black, with a large red cross hanging around his neck and a heavy crossbow aimed directly at Sunghoon.

“Run as fast as you can. I’ll handle him,” Sunghoon orders in a hushed tone, turning to meet your eyes. His expression is unyielding, but you see the faintest hint of worry.

Your heart pounds in your chest, but you nod, turning to flee. The forest is alive with noise—the rustling of leaves, the cries of cicadas, and distant howls. Your footsteps are muted beneath the chaos. Exhausted, you stop to catch your breath, your throat dry and your hands trembling.

As your breathing slows, an eerie silence falls.

The wind stops whispering, and the animals go quiet. Terror grips you—silence is far more unsettling than noise. You frantically search for Sunghoon, but he’s nowhere to be found. Panic rises as you call out:

“SUNGHOON!” you shout, your voice echoing through the forest. No response. “SUNGHOON!” you yell again, desperate, tears welling in your eyes.

A sudden gust of wind chills you to the bone, and then strong arms wrap around you. His familiar scent fills your senses, and you turn to see Sunghoon. His eyes, once dark, are now a vivid red, and his face is streaked with blood.

“Sunghoon…” you whisper, reaching for his face with trembling hands. “Are you hurt?”

“This blood isn’t mine,” he says flatly.

The words offer no comfort. If anything, they make you nauseous. Your mind races, piecing together everything you know about him. He lives alone, keeps to himself, and disappears into the woods every night. Could he be more dangerous than you ever imagined? And if the blood isn’t his… did he just kill that person?

You stumble back, your face pale, your breathing ragged. Sunghoon notices your distress, his expression unreadable. You take another step away, then another, your only thought is to escape and process everything.

“Where are you going?” Sunghoon asks, his tone soft yet pleading as he follows you.

“Home,” you reply coldly, avoiding his gaze. You walk faster, trying to put distance between you, but he’s still close. Panicking, you break into a run.

But Sunghoon has tricks you didn’t anticipate. Before you know it, he’s standing in front of you, blocking your path. You stop, bewildered. How did he get here so fast?

“Can we at least talk about this?” Sunghoon pleads, reaching for your wrist. You pull away, repulsed by the blood on his hands.

“Talk about what? How you just killed that man?” you shout, your voice trembling with fear.

“It’s not that simple,” he says softly, finally grasping your hand. His touch is gentle, as if trying to soothe you. “I didn’t want you to find out like this. Why did you follow me?”

“Because I care about you, that’s why!” you snap, your voice breaking.

Sunghoon freezes. He’s never heard you curse, and your confession leaves him speechless. His hand lifts to your chin, tilting your face so your eyes meet his. His gaze softens; the red in his eyes fades back to the familiar brown you know.

“YN…” he murmurs, his voice unsteady, an unfamiliar emotion stirring within him.

Your lips tremble, your teary eyes pleading. “Let me go,” you whisper, your voice fragile yet resolute.

Sunghoon hesitates but releases you. Guilt consumes him as he watches you back away. Tears streak down your face, and his chest tightens painfully.

Curiosity killed the cat—and it could’ve killed you too.

Sunghoon stands frozen, the faint sound of your retreating footsteps haunting him as the night swallows you whole.

The next time Sunghoon sees you, it’s planned. He thought he had everything under control—studying what to say and how to say it without causing any more pain. But as he approached your bedroom window, he was left baffled.

You were sitting in the little nook by your window, a beer in hand and a few empty cans scattered across the floor. From a distance, he took in the sight of you—your flushed face, stray tears rolling down your cheeks. You were murmuring something to yourself, and curiosity pulled him closer.

“Why do I keep falling for weird people?” you complained, your voice tinged with a whiny frustration. Sunghoon felt a smile creep onto his lips, finding your candidness endearing. Yet, deep down, guilt churned in his chest. He knew he was the reason for your tears, and he hated himself for it.

Carefully, he approached your window, trying not to startle you, but to his dismay, you’d been watching him the entire time.

“You know I have a door, right?” you called out as he came into view. Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, confused.

“I’ve seen you lurking around here for the last three days,” you added, clearly irritated. You stood up, opening the window to let him in. He climbed through awkwardly, his eyes scanning your room. It was clean, carrying the sweet scent that reminded him of you. He accidentally kicked one of the empty cans as he moved, settling himself across from you to face you directly.

“Also, I’m not drunk,” you declared, as if reading his mind. “I can’t get drunk on beer.” You sighed, knowing full well it was true. You had run out of soju and didn’t feel like leaving the house, so beer was your only option. Unfortunately, all it did was send you running to the bathroom over and over again.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” you asked, hoping his words might lift the weight pressing against your heart.

“I’m not very good with words…” Sunghoon confessed, scratching the back of his neck. You were the only person who ever made him feel this uncertain.

“Well, you’d better figure it out, or I’ll kick you out and call the police for stalking me,” you quipped, half annoyed, half teasing, hoping to get a reaction.

“Then why haven’t you done that already?” Sunghoon countered, leaning in slightly, his signature playful smirk tugging at his lips. He loved these games with you. They always ended the same way—with you blushing and pulling away.

“I’m not sure…” you replied honestly. “Maybe I hoped you’d actually want to talk.”

“You were the one who didn’t want to talk,” Sunghoon reminded you, leaning closer. His dark eyes studied the way you nervously chewed your bottom lip.

“I was in shock, okay?” you defended yourself. “It’s not every day you see the guy you have a crush on… killing someone.”

Sunghoon froze, his eyes widening in surprise. Your sudden confession threw him completely off guard, making all the words he had rehearsed vanish from his mind.

You, on the other hand, stood up and began picking up the scattered beer cans.

“Can you leave?” you asked softly, avoiding his gaze as you carried the cans to the kitchen.

“Wait, why?” he asked, his voice deep and raspy, confusion etched across his face.

“You seem uncomfortable,” you replied, sitting on the edge of your bed and keeping a noticeable distance from him.

Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, frustrated at himself. He hated how he struggled to find the right words around you.

“Look, I’m not uncomfortable,” he said. “I’m afraid. Afraid that if I tell you what I need to say, you’ll freak out.”

“I think you’re being a little dramatic,” you said, rolling your eyes. But as your gaze landed on him again, you couldn’t help but admire how the black clothes contrasted against his pale skin.

Sunghoon began pacing back and forth in front of your bed, searching for the courage to spill the truth. He debated how to approach it—whether to explain who the man was or why he had to die—or to ease into it slowly. But then, he blurted it out anyway.

“I’m a vampire.”

Your head tilted slightly as you stared at him, blinking in disbelief. Then, you laughed.

“Sunghoon, be serious,” you said with an amused smile.

“I am serious,” he insisted, his tone unwavering. “I’m a vampire. I have six friends who are vampires too. We’ve been moving from place to place for years to stay safe.”

He moved closer, sitting on the bed beside you. His dark, intense eyes bore into yours, silently pleading for you to believe him.

“Sunghoon…” you said softly, closing your eyes in disbelief. This had to be the lamest excuse anyone had ever given you.

“I’m serious, Y/N,” he repeated, irritation creeping into his voice. “Look at me. My skin is this pale because there’s no blood in my veins. These canines aren’t fake—”

You interrupted his words with a skeptical gaze, your eyes fixed on his mouth. It was true—his canines were sharper than most people’s, but you had always assumed it was just… genetics.

Your eyes roamed his face—his piercing dark eyes, long lashes, and smooth, pale skin. But when you noticed faint scars on his neck, curiosity got the better of you.

Gently, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his skin as you tilted his head to the side. Sunghoon shivered under your touch, unused to such warmth.

As your breath ghosted over his neck, your proximity made him dizzy. The scent of your hair and the faint perfume you wore invaded his senses. Sunghoon tried to focus, but your closeness overwhelmed him. His body tensed, and in his distraction, he fell back onto the bed, pulling you down with him.

Your hands braced against his chest to steady yourself, and you let out a small gasp. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you quickly pushed yourself up.

“I—” you stammered, stepping away from him, your arms crossed defensively.

Sunghoon propped himself up on his forearms, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Okay,” you muttered finally. “I believe you. What happens now?”

Sunghoon stood up, his tall frame towering over you as he moved closer.

“Now, you need to keep it a secret,” he said, his voice low. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “And now, I have to keep an eye on you… to protect you.”

When his face moved away from your ear, you stared into his brown eyes with both worry and an intense feeling that started to brew inside because of his sudden confidence. Sunghoon thought you couldn't get cuter. The way you were always so expressive and simple, always showing what you were feeling.

“Protect me from what?” You asked nervously, taking a few steps back to get away from his intense gaze.

“I was saying in general, princess.” You softly blushed at the nickname, knowing he was messing with you because you had confessed your feelings for him.

“Don’t call me that.” You tried to stand your ground and look serious, but Sunghoon just smirked at you, arching an eyebrow.

“Or what? What are you going to do?” He insisted, stepping forward and cornering you against the wall.

Your eyes met his again, and your mouth hung open. Your heart beat out of your chest as his figure came closer and closer to you, his intense natural smell clouding your vision. Soon, your back hit the wall, and you gasped in surprise, the cold feeling sending shivers down your spine. Sunghoon leaned down again, his face coming close to your neck.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath as you felt his nose brush against you, and then you felt something sharp against your skin, making you whimper. Sunghoon let his fangs, which had grown longer, graze over your skin. Your sweet perfume made him lose his mind once again, wanting nothing more than to sink his teeth into you. But he knew he couldn’t, so after teasing you for a while longer, he stepped away.

You stood there breathless, your chest red, and the heat spreading along your neck and face. You wanted to make a hole in the ground and disappear, unable to resist the tension that had settled inside your safe place.

“I have to go. I’ll come visit you again soon,” Sunghoon said with a smile as he left through your window. You ran there, trying to peek at him one last time, but he was nowhere to be seen. Just a small bat flew away, its tiny body disappearing further into the night sky.

The next few times Sunghoon came over, it didn’t feel as strange anymore. He was wearing casual clothes and his glasses, which framed his handsome face perfectly. Most of the time, the two of you sat by the nook, talking about his recent adventures.

You couldn’t help but feel pleased that he’d started opening up to you. You tried to savor every moment when he wouldn’t stop talking. Sunghoon never brought up your feelings for him again. Instead, he just hung out with you as though nothing had changed, enjoying your presence and appreciating how you always seemed so captivated by his stories.

Sunghoon couldn’t fully understand the feelings he had for you. Beneath the innocent fondness he felt, something deeper stirred. He craved to protect you, to keep you by his side forever. But even beyond that, there was a secret desire that grew stronger with every visit. It started when you grew more comfortable with him, and your choice of outfits began to change.

At first, you would dress up nicely—wear makeup, spritz on perfume, and carefully pick your outfits. But now, you didn’t bother changing when he came by your window. Whatever you were wearing stayed. Sometimes it was a short crop top and loose pants; other times, it was a long T-shirt with shorts, leaving your legs exposed. Sunghoon tried his best not to stare, but the way your legs lazily rested on top of his made it difficult.

Sometimes, he would even stutter and lose track of his story, but you never noticed, too engrossed in what he was saying.

Today, you stood shyly in his living room, feeling all six pairs of eyes fix on you. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you fidgeted, unsure of what to do.

“Guys, come on, you’re making her shy,” Sunghoon said suddenly, walking in from the kitchen with a few cups filled with something you didn’t want to ask about. He gently grabbed your hand and led you toward the sofas, motioning for you to sit beside the boy with a big smile and soft, wavy hair.

The boy’s smile widened as he looked at you. “Hi, I’m Jake!” he said in a thick accent.

You smiled back. “I’m Y/N,” you responded quietly, glancing nervously around the room.

Sunghoon thought it would be a good idea to introduce you to his friends, who, as far as you knew, were all vampires too. Your eyes flitted to each of them. The tallest, yet the youngest, was sitting cross-legged on the carpet. His black hair hung over his eyes, and you’d learned his name was Ni-ki. On the sofa next to him was Jungwoon, their leader. His cute blonde hair contrasted sharply with the intensity in his darkly lined eyes. Beside him sat Jay and Heesung, two tall, strikingly attractive men whose piercing gazes made you swallow nervously.

In front of them were Jake, the friendly boy beside you, and Sunoo. His fluffy blonde hair framed his soft features perfectly.

Jake seemed to take an instant liking to you. His arm rested casually behind you as he cracked jokes, clearly trying to make you laugh. His eyes stayed glued to your flustered expression, but you seemed oblivious to his intentions, simply laughing along.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon leaned against the sofa, his dark eyes never leaving Jake. He hated how close he was to you.

As the conversation shifted, your curiosity got the better of you. You began asking questions about their vampirism, eager to know more. The topic grew serious, and Sunghoon used the opportunity to sit on the floor in front of you. Without thinking, you opened your legs slightly, letting him lean back against the sofa. Your hands naturally found their way to his shoulders.

“Wait, so you can bite someone without turning them into a vampire?” you asked, your brows furrowing in confusion. Your fingers drifted to Sunghoon’s hair, absentmindedly playing with it. He couldn’t hide the proud smirk on his lips as he turned his head slightly, making sure Jake saw how close the two of you were.

“Yeah, but we don’t do it,” Jungwoon explained, his hands resting casually on Jay’s legs.

“Why not?” you pressed.

“It only happens when we’re weak and need blood to heal,” Ni-ki chimed in, taking a sip from his cup. His lips were stained red from the liquid.

Sensing the discomfort in the room, you decided to drop the topic. The atmosphere felt heavier now, and everyone’s attention slowly shifted to the TV, where a movie was playing. You felt Sunghoon tense beneath your hands, and then, without warning, he pulled away entirely.

You blinked in confusion at the sudden change but didn’t say anything. Jake gave you a reassuring smile, his expression telling you that you hadn’t done anything wrong. You smiled back, feeling a bit more at ease as you relaxed against the sofa.

Across the room, Jungwoon’s sharp gaze lingered on you. Something about you unsettled him—not you directly, but the aura you carried. It made him uneasy. He made a mental note to speak to Sunghoon about it later.

Minutes passed, and you dozed off on the sofa. Your head rested on Sunoo’s shoulder, who had also fallen asleep. A thick blanket draped over the two of you, courtesy of Sunghoon.

The rest of the group had dispersed. Jay was outside starting a fire for a barbecue, while Ni-ki and Heesung set the table. In the kitchen, Sunghoon and Jungwoon were finishing the side dishes.

“I have a bad feeling about her,” Jungwoon said in a low voice, standing next to Sunghoon, who was washing the dishes. The taller boy turned to his leader, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“She’s just a human,” Sunghoon replied simply.

“You’re getting too attached to her,” Jungwoon said, his tone firm as he gave Sunghoon a stern look, clearly annoyed by his dismissive response. “She was just a human to Sunoo too, and look what happened—he almost died.” Jungwoon hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but he couldn’t help it. That was why he was chosen as the leader. He only wanted to protect Sunghoon. Nothing more.

“That woman was crazy. She took advantage of Sunoo,” Sunghoon shot back, his voice rising slightly, disliking how his friend was comparing you to someone like that. “Y/N would never hurt me,” he added firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As Sunghoon finished washing the dishes, he turned to help carry the plates outside. But his steps faltered when his eyes landed on you. You were fast asleep on the sofa, your lips slightly pouted as you breathed softly. Sunoo was beside you, also dozing off, his hair messy and his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

The sight made Sunghoon relax, the tension in his shoulders melting away. He found himself quietly admiring you, the way you seemed so peaceful and innocent.

Jungwoon, standing beside him with a bowl in his hand, shifted his gaze to the couch, carefully studying the scene before him. Maybe his unease wasn’t coming from you directly, but from what you might bring into their lives. His instincts tingled with a sense of danger.

He glanced at Sunghoon, observing how his entire demeanor softened as he watched you. That could be good—or very bad. Sunghoon had a history of becoming aggressive and possessive when he cared deeply about someone, and not just with you. The last time it happened, both he and Ni-ki had been severely injured.

Their thoughts were interrupted by Heesung’s voice calling from outside. They exchanged a brief glance before refocusing on their task. As they carried the plates out, the heavy tension in the room remained, thick and lingering, like a storm waiting to break.

Sunghoon’s vision blurs as heavy tears pool in his eyes. He kneels on the ground, his black pants soaked with thick blood and mud. His chest heaves as he lowers his head, trying to control himself. The fresh scent of the surrounding trees invades his senses, a futile attempt to steady his ragged breathing.

“What was her name again?” the tall man taunts, his voice strained as he struggles to lift himself off the ground. Blood pours from his nose, cascading like a waterfall and staining his holy white shirt.

“Don’t you dare!” Sunghoon snarls, his voice trembling with rage. One hand clutches his chest, the sharp sting intensifying with each labored breath. Slowly, he attempts to rise, only to stumble forward.

“It’s YN, isn’t it?” the bloodied man croaks, lying flat on his back as his lungs fill with blood. He knows his end is near, but it doesn’t matter. He’s uncovered Sunghoon’s greatest weakness.

And if they break Sunghoon, they’ll destroy them all.

Hearing your name fall from the man’s lips is the final push Sunghoon needs. Summoning the last remnants of his strength, he forces himself upright. His legs feel leaden, barely able to support him, but he limps toward the man lying on the ground.

“I’ll kill every last one of you,” Sunghoon growls, his voice deadly and unwavering. “And I’ll drink your blood from your skull if you or your deranged people so much as touch her.” He bends down, his bruised hands gripping the man’s collar and pulling him closer.

“Is that a promise?” the man sputters, coughing up blood that spatters across Sunghoon’s face.

Tired of the man’s defiance, Sunghoon reaches for the gun tucked into his back pocket. Without hesitation, he presses it against the man’s forehead and pulls the trigger. The gunshot echoes through the forest, and blood splatters across his face and the surrounding plants. The man’s lifeless body grows limp in his grip, and Sunghoon lets it fall to the ground with a thud.

The effort overwhelms him, and Sunghoon staggers. His eyes flutter shut, exhaustion gripping him like a vice. This is bad, he thinks, barely able to whisper the words in his mind. Realizing he’s at his limit, he shifts into his bat form in a desperate attempt to fly to you, using the last of his energy to stay airborne.

You were sound asleep when a sudden, loud bang against your window jolted you awake. Your heart races as your body trembles with unease. Your eyes scan the darkened room until they land on a familiar sight—Sunghoon.

Tears well up in your eyes as you take in his condition. He rests against your window, barely conscious, his body soaked in blood. With trembling hands, you rush to open it, tears spilling freely down your cheeks as fear grips your heart. Sunghoon collapses onto the cushions by the window, his body heavy and limp.

“Sunghoon…” you whisper, your voice breaking. “What do I do? How can I help?” Your hands frantically move to unbutton his shirt, desperate to ease his discomfort.

He doesn’t respond immediately, momentarily lost in the warmth of your touch. But the moment your fingers graze his fresh bruises, he groans in pain, snapping him back to reality.

You quickly rise, searching for tissues to clean the blood from his face. Each tissue soaks through, the blood thick and unrelenting. When you get up to grab more, Sunghoon’s hand suddenly shoots out, gripping your wrist.

“I need…” His voice is barely audible, fragile and weak. “Blood.”

You stare at him in surprise, cupping his face with your trembling hands, uncaring that it’s still smeared with someone else’s blood. Warm tears stream down your cheeks, and Sunghoon gently catches one with his hand, his dark eyes locking intensely with yours.

“You—you can have mine,” you stammer, nervous yet desperate. “You said you could drink blood without turning me, so… do it,” you insist, your voice firm despite the trembling in your chest.

With hesitant hands, you pull your t-shirt over your head, standing before him in just your bralette. You look away, baring your neck to him, giving him full access. Sunghoon blinks twice, disbelief flickering in his gaze. You look so vulnerable, so enticing, and it takes every ounce of his fading strength to push forward.

With a groan, he presses you back against the wall, settling between your legs as he leans closer.

Sunghoon gently takes hold of your hands, lifting them above your head and pinning them with one hand. His other arm snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You sigh nervously, your breath shaky, though another sensation stirs within you—the way he looks, so starved and broken, makes your thighs tense instinctively.

As his lips hover near your neck, the faint moonlight softens his sharp features, illuminating the slight glow of his skin. His crimson eyes gleam, fully consumed by hunger and desire. His movements are slow, deliberate, his face mere centimeters from yours.

“Will it hurt?” you ask, voice trembling as his warm breath brushes your skin.

“Hurt?” Sunghoon murmurs lowly, and you swear you can hear the faintest smirk in his tone. “No, princess. It won’t hurt, I promise.”

With those words, his sharp fangs sink into your neck.

A loud moan escapes your lips at the sensation, your body squirming under his unyielding hold. There’s no pain—only something deeper, something primal that makes your breath hitch. Your chest presses against his bare skin, and another moan spills from you when his grip on your wrists and waist tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he feeds, regaining his strength.

Your breathing grows shallow, your mouth hanging open as Sunghoon finally pulls back. His teeth leave your neck, and a single drop of blood trails down your skin. Without hesitation, Sunghoon catches it with his tongue, licking it clean, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

He doesn’t pull away completely, lingering close to your neck, his lips brushing your collarbone. Soft, reverent kisses follow along your chest, his hungry mouth pecking lightly at the tops of your breasts, still covered by your bra.

“Thank you, princess,” he whispers, his voice hoarse yet full of gratitude as his grip on your wrists loosens. You lower your arms, resting them at your sides, silently granting him full access to you.

You don’t reply, your body trembling and overheated, sweat forming on your forehead. “Keep going…” you whisper breathlessly, your hand finding its way to his face, lifting his chin gently.

Sunghoon looks utterly wrecked—his messy black hair clings to his forehead, his lips stained with blood, and his dark eyes, now back to their normal color, burn with intensity. You bite your lip, unable to bear the suffocating heat between you. He seems to understand your unspoken plea, his gaze traveling over your flushed face before he leans in, capturing your lips with his own.

The kiss begins soft and tender but quickly transforms into something passionate and consuming. His grip on your waist tightens, his other hand sliding dangerously high on your thigh. He leaves no room for air, his lips moving hungrily against yours. When you pull away to catch your breath, he’s already there again, his skilled tongue dominating yours effortlessly. The faint metallic taste of your blood lingers in his mouth, and you break away when you notice it, finding it dangerously addictive.

You rest your forehead against his as your breathing steadies, though Sunghoon’s hand remains firmly on your thigh. You glance down at it, silently urging him to do more, but he hesitates. To him, this moment already feels like too much. All he wants now is to hold you and ensure you’re safe.

With gentle pressure on your waist, he guides you to lift your hips and settle onto his lap. Sunghoon shifts back slightly, leaning against the wall to make the position more comfortable.

No words are exchanged. It’s just the two of you, tangled together as he gazes out at the night sky. The crescent moon casts its pale light across the room, illuminating your peaceful expression as you drift off to sleep in his arms. Your head rests lazily against his chest, his steady heartbeat soothing you.

Sunghoon’s fingers find their way to your hair, gently massaging your scalp. Pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, he makes a silent promise to the moon—and to himself.

He’ll protect you. Forever.

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#sunghoon #park sunghoon #sunghoon smut #enhypen smut #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen au #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen fluff #enhypen thriller

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mypoisonedvine · 2 years ago

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𝖇𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖘𝖕𝖔𝖙𝖘 | professor!jonathan crane x batgirl!reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 | it can be difficult, living a double life: spending your days as a scholarship student at gotham university, and your nights as batgirl, the legendary heroine, fighting alongside batman and robin. though it proves to take a toll on you mentally and physically, flunked term papers and missed lectures will be the least of your problems when you encounter the scarecrow somewhere in the shadowy alleyways of gotham...

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 | 7k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 | NONCON SMUT (18+ only; violent/rough sex, use of fear toxin, degradation, semi-public sex/exhibitionism, bondage), professor/student dynamic (therefore implied age gap), some angst and depiction of ptsd/aftermath, reader is dating robin/tim drake

“And so,” Professor Crane continued, looking towards the class from the board, chalk in hand, "this triggers the fear response, and all that comes with it. You're probably familiar with the symptoms of fear: heart rate increase, cold sweat, overall heightened arousal."

A few giggles could be heard at that, and he rolled his eyes.

"Not that sort of arousal, necessarily," he frowned.

Everyone else just brushed off the childish humor of the moment, but you narrowed your eyes, getting a sense that the word necessarily was doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence.

He returned to his lecture, drawing lines in chalk over his crude diagram of the human brain, explaining how each area of the brain contributed to fear and the fight-or-flight response. As he spoke, you re-read the handout he’d given today— and you chewed on your lip absent-mindedly as you reviewed the bibliography.

"Dr. Crane?" you raised your hand, interrupting his lecture mid-sentence. "I had a question about some of the studies you reference here."

"Yes?" he returned, turning to face you with a slightly confused expression.

"Well you cite a paper out of Berkeley from 2002, to support the conclusion that exposure therapy is the best response to aggressive phobias— however, if you actually read the paper—"

"I read the paper, Miss," he interrupted sternly.

"Then, if you actually understood the paper," you continued, a few students gasping and laughing softly at your insubordination, "then you would see that the conclusions indicate the perceived decrease in fear response comes at the expense of long-term stability. Don't you think that negates any positive implications?"

The silence in the room was tense: everyone was waiting for how he would respond to your critique. Instead, he just smiled at you slightly. "I think you may have more context for how research is conducted, and reevaluate your conclusions, when you get a chance to organize your own research— in about a decade."

"Actually, Professor, I'll be leading my own experiment this quarter," you corrected, just as he was about to turn away from you and keep lecturing. "I'm the recipient of the Wayne Enterprises Collegiate Scholarship— which pays for my education here and also comes with a fifty thousand dollar research grant."

“Ah,” he said, bitterness dripping from his tone as he set his hands on the desk and leaned forward a bit. “May I ask what topic you hope to explore with your research?”

“Crime,” you explained, “and criminal behavior.”

“Hm,” he nodded, frowning slightly in an impressed sort of way, taking his weight off the desk. “And it doesn’t bother you that you’re here studying psychology?”

You lowered your brow, confused by his question. “I’m sorry?”

“Criminology is a subfield of sociology, which is related to but distinct from psychology,” he explained.

“Would you recommend that I switch majors, Doctor?” you asked simply.

“Well, it’s no secret that you’ve set the curve on our last two exams,” Dr. Crane smiled, tilting his head slightly. “So, no— I think I’d rather keep you here.”

You straightened up slightly, taken aback by his wording.

“Plus, while you’re still in my department,” he continued, “I have a better chance of talking some sense into you.”

With that, he returned to teaching, and you noticed how the other students were watching you before you sighed and tried to listen to the rest of class.

You caught up with him on a long stretch of hallway, just as he stepped up to his office door. “Professor!” you got his attention, and he turned to you with a slightly smug look as he held his hands together.

“Ah, yes,” he greeted, “I see you’re here to apologize for how you spoke to me in class today?”

You knew he didn’t actually expect that, he knew better after having you under him for the last two quarters— um, so to speak. “Just as soon as you do,” you offered with a smirk in return, shifting your weight on your hip.

That was what moved your button-down slightly, and his eyes drifted down to your neck— when they did, confusion and concern suddenly painted his expression. “My,” he gasped a little, pulling on the collar of your shirt with one finger to expose a healing scrape on your chest; his fingertip brushed over your skin and the golden chain of your necklace, and you jumped away slightly. “How’d you get that?”

“It’s nothing—” you blurted out, blinking quickly, “I tripped, on campus, actually.”

“That wonky step up to the Commons?” he assumed. “I’ve filed two complaints about that loose brick…”

“Yes,” you agreed quickly, smiling. “Yeah, I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I didn’t catch myself well while holding my books—”

“Hm,” he nodded back, “that’s a shame. A girl as smart as you, forgetting the Commons building doesn’t have brick steps— or steps at all, in fact.”

You swallowed thickly, glancing away.

“You sure were eager for an explanation, though,” he smiled. “How’d you really get such a nasty scrape? It does look like concrete, but I’m guessing it didn’t happen on campus—”

“It’s no matter,” you assured.

“It wasn’t that boyfriend of yours, was it?” he pressed. “Mr. Drake, as I recall?”

“Wha— no!” you gasped.

“He’s not your boyfriend?”

“Well, he is,” you explained, “but he didn’t—”

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Crane offered, lowering his voice slightly.

“Of course,” you sighed, “but there’s nothing to tell. Things are fine with Tim, I promise.”

“He shared your interest in criminal studies, didn’t he?” Professor Crane recalled. “Clearly, he didn’t share your scholarly aptitude, though, seeing as he’s dropped out.”

“H-he was smart enough,” you justified, “he left because of stress.”

“Ah,” the Professor nodded, “and he doesn’t take that stress out on you at all?”

“C’mon, Professor, Tim’s a good person,” you promised.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Crane replied, “but it’s the ones that act the kindest that have the most to hide, isn’t it?”

You knew there was another meaning to that statement, but there were so many possibilities that you couldn’t settle on one.

“You understand that if I suspect anything, I’m required to alert our student wellness services,” he reminded you. “They’ll have a counselor reach out to you—”

“Listen, Dr. Crane— I didn’t come here to speak to you about my personal life,” you reminded him, “I wanted to ask you about my performance in the class so far, in your opinion.”

He paused before sighing in relent. “I’m a little concerned, actually,” he admitted, “about your most recent paper.”

He pulled it from the folder under his arm and handed it back to you— covered in red ink. You blinked at him, biting your lip in confusion. “I thought these wouldn’t be returned until—”

“I worked on yours first,” he explained quickly, even though that explanation only brought more questions than answers. “It’s still very strong, but it’s not what I expect from you at this point. It feels rushed.”

Rushed— yeah, I remember this one. I wrote it all the night it was due because I spent the three days before recovering from that fight with Falcone’s thugs at the docks—

“I’ll let you rewrite it,” he offered, “if you can get it back to me before I return the rest of your classmates’ work.”

You laughed a little, looking at the paper in front of you, and Crane knitted his brows together. “You know, Professor, sometimes I can’t tell if I’m your favorite student, or your most hated.”

He smiled a little, glancing down briefly at the floor in a sort of self-effacing way. “I don’t have favorites,” he assured, unconvincingly. “You’re not my best student, or my worst— you’re an entirely different kind of student. You’re nothing like those other… juvenile, moronic co-eds looking in the exact wrong place for an easy A.”

Your eyes widened a little, seeing the way he let a little irritation— disdain, really— paint his tone. He snarled a bit as he spoke, his nostrils flaring; like he was holding it back, how much resentment he really had for your classmates.

As quickly as it came, he seemed to shake it off, and then he smiled again… but it was tight, and forced, you could see that just as easily. “You challenge me,” he finished quickly. “I appreciate that as much as I detest it.”

You smiled back, somewhat genuinely despite the icky feeling that suddenly wiggled in your stomach. “I suppose I feel the same way,” you admitted.

He opened his mouth, hesitating slightly, before tilting his head the other way and starting over. “Could you come into my office for a minute?” he asked suddenly, a strange glimmer in his eyes behind the thin silver glasses. “I’d like to show you my latest work— I think you’ll find it quite intriguing…”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a ring of keys and started to unlock his office door, and you didn’t feel too excellent about it.

Just then, a group of students walked by, and you heard them talking amongst each other as one looked at a text message on her phone. “Oh my god,” one said as she explained to those around her, “my friend’s at the bank right now— she said someone’s holding up the place…”

“What?” another student asked, and you tilted your head a bit to hear them better.

“Yeah, the one on Main and 57th? The police aren’t there yet— she said they have guns…”

Your heart started to race. Sounds like a job for Batgirl.

Crane was in his own world, though, about to open the door. “Maybe I can even convince you to change some of your conclusions about the study of fear,” he posited.

You stepped back, motivated to leave just as much by a strange suspicion of Professor Crane as the opportunity to stop the nearby bank robbery. “I-I have to go,” you said, before you’d thought of a good excuse— and that hadn’t gone well for you last time, but hopefully he wasn’t going to quiz you on campus architecture again to trip you up.

He looked confused, a little sad even, as he turned to you again. “This won’t take long,” he promised, “I’d just like to show you—”

“Sorry,” you blurted out as you kept backing up, “I gotta… you know, um… buy tampons.”

Hoping something that awkward would get him to stop asking questions, you turned on your heel and darted off down the hall, looking for the best way off campus and to a secluded spot where you could pull your Batgirl get-up out of the false compartment in your bag and get to work.

“I don’t like you going out there alone,” Bruce said flatly, not looking up from his hands clasped in his lap.

“Wow, really?” you rolled your eyes, feigning surprise. “News to me.”

“You’re too young, and it’s dangerous,” he continued anyway.

“Doing all the greatest hits tonight, huh?” you smirked. “Next you’ll say you need to keep up your identity better, study hard so no one suspects you and then finish it off with don’t touch the Batmobile.”

He sighed and shook his head. “You can touch it, you just can’t drive it.”

“Right,” you agreed flatly, sighing as you adjusted in your spot on the couch. You’d taken up shop here in the Wayne Manor private library: something about your interaction with Professor Crane yesterday made you want to study off-campus for the afternoon…

You knew Bruce had a point about working alone— you didn’t really want to be alone, you were certainly safer when you had Batman by your side. The problem was that you were too safe… Bruce protected you so well that he hindered you; you’d accused him of wanting you to just stay behind and patch him up after fights rather than actually helping. He denied it, obviously, but actions speak louder than words— and there was such a difference in the way he treated you and Robin was obvious.

In fact, that itself had driven a wedge between you and your boyfriend— one of many reasons Bruce had implored you both not to get involved in that way, but it was sort of unavoidable. You can only do such high intensity, high pressure work alongside someone for so long before the tension is too much to bear…

Then again, that very tension that made your relationship with Tim threatened to break it, and you knew that— you felt that, even now, as he looked at you with a sympathetic sort of stare. You cleared your throat and focused on your book again.

“Please don’t go out without us again,” Tim asked— softer, sweeter, lacking that father-figure-sternness Bruce was always trying to muster.

“I think the people in that bank are pretty happy that I did,” you replied with a snarky smile.

“We were on our way—” Bruce began.

“It was a one man job!” you insisted.

“There were seven men on that heist team— and two more parked outside,” Bruce explained, getting more frustrated as this discussion continued. “It doesn’t matter. We work as a team.”

“Except when you go out alone,” you reminded him.

“I’ve been doing this longer,” he explained, standing up, “I’ve been doing it better, and I’ve been doing it on my own since you were still in high school.”

“Then why did you take me in?” you returned sharply, knitting your brows together in confusion and frustration. “Why did you train me, why did you bring me here and tell me the truth?”

“Because I saw your potential,” he answered as he began to walk away, “not because you’re ready to save the whole fucking world by yourself.”

You shook your head in frustration— almost disbelief, except of course he would do this— as Bruce shut the door behind him. Conversation didn’t go his way, he just left— that was normal. Ironic, for a man who interrogated criminals on the street almost daily.

“He’s right,” Tim informed you after a pregnant pause, and you glared at him.

“Would you excuse me? I have to study,” you explained sharply as you motioned to the textbooks and notepads laid out on the table, as you’d had them before you were interrupted by these two, “because apparently the best thing Batgirl can do is not be Batgirl.”

“Hey,” Tim sighed, “he doesn’t mean it like that… he just wants you to keep focusing on your studies, that’s all.”

“I just think it’s funny—” you began.

“I bet it’s not gonna be very funny,” Tim noticed with a frown.

“— that Bruce thinks it’s so important that I keep my grades up so nobody knows what I’m doing at night— so nobody knows that I’m not getting any goddamn sleep— but you got to drop out and that apparently wasn’t going to make anybody suspicious?” you noticed. “You know, I had a professor ask me about you today— wondering what was up with you leaving so suddenly. Why is nobody worried about that?”

“We worry about you because we care about you,” he explained.

You tossed your books aside, standing up to face Tim properly. “That’s bullshit,” you spat.

“You think I don’t care about you, seriously?” he asked.

“I know you care about me, but you don’t respect me,” you explained, “neither of you do. You two go off and do what you want, you’d rather me be your nurse than actually be out there— when you know damn well that you need me!”

“I need you,” Tim promised, “in so many ways. That’s why I can’t let anything happen to you—”

“Well, things need to happen to me sometimes! Isn’t that what life is, things happening to you?!” you laughed exasperatedly. “I mean, shit, why do I go to school at all? Why don’t you guys just lock me at the top of Wayne Tower and I’ll never ever leave and you can just climb up my hair when you wanna come visit!”

“Christ,” Tim groaned, “you are so fucking ridiculous sometimes— what are you trying to prove? Why do you need to be out there every night beating up bad guys, whether Bruce tells you to or not?”

Instead of answering that, you simply accused: “He obviously likes you better than me.”

“Is that really what this is about? You want Bruce to like you?!” Tim scoffed. “Are you that shallow?”

“I want him to trust me!” you clarified. “I want him to understand what I’m capable of!”

“You know what you’re capable of,” he replied, grabbing your shoulders. “I know. Is that not enough?”

You let out a long breath, looking down at the floor.

“I love you,” Tim sighed— but it didn’t sound very sweet when he said it like that, it sounded sad.

“I love you too,” you replied instinctively, but it felt oddly hollow leaving your lips.

“Please,” he breathed as he pressed his forehead to yours, “please stay safe. You’re stronger than me, you can take a lot more than I can.”

You were about to ask him what he meant by that, since you both knew he was physically stronger and more resilient than you, walking away from fights that could’ve put you in a stretcher. But before you could ask, he spoke again.

“My heart can only take so much.”

But that only proved your point, though you didn’t tell him out loud: that what him and Bruce wanted you to do had nothing to do with your strength, and everything to do with their weakness.

In your defense, you took the night off.

But the next night, you had to get out there— Bruce and Tim told you to stay behind so Batman and Robin could go save the day, and you? You were holding down the fort, keeping the couch warm. What a fucking waste; there was more evil in this city than two men could purge— there was more for you to do. As tempting as it was to meet them at the rendezvous location they’d figured out and try to help clear out the gangsters there buying an illegal weapons shipment, you knew that would just lead to the same fight again. This time, the plan was to go out, kick some criminal ass, come back, and leave Bruce none the wiser.

You scanned police radios patiently, waiting for just the right thing— small enough to fix on your own, big enough to matter. You wished, sometimes, that you had less to choose from…

Units respond, units respond — 10-79 reported at West Main and 88th.

Bomb threat. That felt manageable, and you were pretty handy with defusal in case that threat had any credibility. You turned off the radio and stood up, looking down over the city from your vantage point on a highrise fire escape. It was beautiful, in its grimy Gotham way: a light rainfall coated everything in a fuzzy static like old film; it made the concrete reflect the neon lights a little clearer, the whole skyline sort of slick and steamy.

Running and jumping to the next roof, you made a path to your destination and navigated the city unseen, like any good Bat-person would.

You were nearly there when you stopped on a roof above an abandoned manufacturing plant— well, that’s the thing, it wasn’t as abandoned as you thought. There was a glass sunroof, and even though it was dark and rainy, the light inside brought your attention to a group of men inside. Not to profile or anything, but 4 bald guys with guns standing around is usually a good sign that someone’s up to no good…

Trying to get a better look at what was going on inside, you carefully lifted one of the glass panels and slipped inside, sneaking around the metal scaffolding as the sound of the rain was muffled and replaced with distance, echoing voices.

You crouched in the rafters, watching with narrowed eyes as the group of men faced against a figure you couldn’t make out with the shadows and pillars in the way.

“So, are we good for this deal, or what?” the leader of the group asked.

A modulated, deeper voice answered: “This is half of what we agreed.”

“My team had some… road bumps, trying to bring this to you,” the man explained, stepping forward slightly. “We lost some of the compound. This is what we’re offering, take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” the shadowy figure agreed. “How much for what’s left?”

“The same price we discussed.”

“For half the amount? How does that work?”

“It’s a flat rate,” the smuggler— that’s what he must have been, right?— explained with a smug smirk. “In fact, I should charge you more— call it hazard pay, for what my men had to go through to get this here.”

“I see,” the deeper voice replied. “How about this: I kill all of you, and take it.”

Your eyes widened; isn’t this guy alone? He’s sure got some balls…

The group of men paused before beginning to laugh. “You?” the leader repeated. “This skinny guy in the suit is gonna kill all of us?”

“I can do worse than that— I’ll make you beg for me to kill you.”

Feeling the tension of this discussion reach its breaking point, you realized you needed to intervene now: leaning over to make sure you had the right spot under you, you took the grappling hook off of your belt and pointed it down.

Firing it with a metallic whooshing sort of sound, the device grabbed one of the men and yanked him up into the shadows of the ceiling with you. Everyone on the ground looked up in shock and fear, pointing their guns aimlessly into the darkness. Before he could even really react to what had just occurred, you dropped the man back down— onto one of his friends, of course, which incapacitated them both but saved him from a much worse fate than if he’d landed on that concrete warehouse floor.

“What the fuck?” the leader of the group yelled as he tried to fire indiscriminately up at you— but you were already running along the steel beam, following one of the men as he tried to make a dash for the exit.

A blast from your long-distance taser gun brought him to the ground instantly, and as the last one left searched for the source of your attacks, you jumped down to the ground just behind him, landing in a crouched position. As soon as he’d turned around to face you, you’d grabbed a loose metal pipe from nearby and hit him over the head with an oddly-satisfying bong noise.

You knew the other man was still somewhere in the dark nearby, and you called out for him: “Whoever you are, stop hiding in the shadows: that’s kinda my thing,” you informed him.

He stepped forward in the cool, gray light: a man in a torn and tattered suit, with a burlap mask that had massive stitches like scars. Batman had just warned you about this guy, what was his name again?

"My," he purred with pleasant shock, his voice clearly deepened electronically by something in that sack on his head. "If it isn't Batgirl. Nice outfit, very… shiny."

"Yours looks pretty rough," you noticed.

He shrugged. "It does the job."

You smiled back, remembering finally who you were dealing with. "Not with me. I'm not scared of you, Scarecrow."

"You will be," he promised.

You swung first, a roundhouse kick right at his head, but he ducked and came back up at you— he tried to grab you but you slipped away.

Instead of going after you again, he ran— grabbed one of the suitcases off of the palette nearby, whatever this ‘shipment’ was, and bolted for the door into the alleyway. You almost laughed, impressed that he thought he could outrun you, but then again this was the guy who threatened to kill four armed men straight to their face.

You chased him right out the door, but as you dashed into the alley behind the manufacturing plant— the one that faced the northern street— you learned a moment too late that he hadn’t run at all, but was waiting for you there.

He sprayed something in your face, and you coughed as a cloud of vapor filled your lungs. You assumed it was pepper spray at first, but it didn't burn— actually, it smelled a little sweet, sort of herbal. But the effects were almost instantaneous, the pounding in your chest and the sinking feeling in your gut, the world spinning around you.

The fear response: heart rate increase, cold sweat, overall heightened arousal.

Instantly you felt old memories rushing in— awful, horrifying ones, and even worse than you remembered them. For a moment, there was fear with no real object, just the feeling… until he grabbed your face and forced you to look at him, at the wicked mask that seemed impossibly close— that seemed like it could swallow you whole. You screamed, trying to turn away or shut your eyes or something, but nothing assuaged the terror.

"Please," you sobbed. "Make it stop! Please!"

“Nothing can stop it now,” his voice returned— even rougher and darker than before, the deep bass of it making you shiver. “This is who you are. Give in to the fear.”

If nothing else, he had a point that fighting it wasn’t proving very useful— but giving in meant letting the world collapse in on you, letting the darkness pull you back… the darkness you’d fought so hard to make into an ally was becoming your enemy again.

He grabbed your mask and tugged it away; even overwhelmed with primal terror, enough logic remained for you to reach up and try to cover your face.

But he simply grabbed your hands and shoved them away. You heard a laugh behind that horrible mask, just before he suddenly took it off.

The toxin changed his face, too— his smile was wider and his teeth sharper, his eyes totally black— and you couldn't recognize him at first. Only when he addressed you by name did you finally put it together; "Professor Crane?" you realized with a horrified gasp.

"I imagine you haven't finished rewriting that paper yet?"

"Oh god," you sobbed, "you— you're— how can you do this?"

You struggled against him again, but he held you back effortlessly. “I said I liked you because you’re a challenge,” he remembered with a laugh. “But out here, you’re no challenge at all. Just a stupid little girl in a mask.”

He slapped you hard across the face, making you stumble even more as you lost your balance, colliding with the damp black asphalt.

He descended onto you, turning you on your back when you tried to hide your face in your arm as an escape from the terrifying visions. “I’ve been waiting for a chance to put you in your place,” he admitted with a growl as he started to pull your armored clothes off of you roughly. “You act a little too fearless for my liking… good to know it’s all an act.”

You cried, shaking and flailing beneath him, but you couldn’t actually put up a fight like this— the darkness throbbed around you, shadows reaching out to pull you into their abyss. “Please,” you begged again, “no! Stop, please!”

You weren’t even sure yourself if you were talking to him or to the hallucinated, anthropomorphized energy in the dark, but neither stopped. He struggled at times to get your clothes off, they weren’t exactly designed to come off quickly but you shuddered violently from the cool night air when your chest was exposed. You heard a deep growl from him, and you whimpered loudly as his hands ran over your skin. “What are you so scared of?” he asked, sounding amused— but in your mind, those hands were claws that could shred you to pieces at any moment, and you breathed so fast that your chest just spasmed and quaked. “I think you’ve been needing this for a while…”

He roughly turned you onto your stomach, face down against the street, and started to tug down your pants. You were too scared to even beg him to stop, to try to bargain or reason with him— you just shuddered and cried, hiding your face and hoping for relief from the dread.

He smacked you on your bare ass, once it was exposed, and chuckled to himself at your whine in response. The next thing you heard was the sound of a belt opening, a zipper unzipped…

Was it the toxin that made you afraid he would rip you in half, when he pressed his erection against your thigh? Or was that just common sense?

You grimaced when you heard him spit into his hand, but it fell into a whining cry as he pushed his tip against your opening. With your pants only down to your knees, you couldn’t even spread your legs at all, making you feel even more like there was no chance he could fit. The sick, anxious fear felt a little different now— maybe not as strong, but mostly just something new… something deeper and subtler and heavier. It wasn’t visions of monsters or memories of suffering, it was just this inevitable violation and the sureness that you were completely helpless.

He pushed his hips forward sharply, making you scream out and instantly reach back to try to grab his hips and push them away. He ignored it and kept going forward with a low groan. “Mm, you can take it,” he promised gruffly. “Fucking take it.”

You cried as he put a hand on your shoulders, keeping you pressed down painfully into the ground, as he slid the rest of the way in.

It stung, it stretched you in an awful way and went far too deep… but you were wet, you could feel it. Overall heightened arousal… not that sort of arousal, necessarily. He obviously noticed as well, growling a bit. “You like this, hm?” he accused.

“N-no,” you managed to slur, but it was hard to even breathe with his weight pressing you down. You pushed back harder against his thighs through his undone trousers, but he growled and grab your hand to pin it down above your head. He brought the other up beside it, and quickly pulled his belt out from the loops to tie around your wrists. “Professor,” you pleaded under your breath, feeling your warm tears mix with the cold rain on the ground.

But he was already inside you, it was too late for that— and with your hands conveniently out of the way, he breathed heavy as he started to pull back and shove back in.

There was no build-up after that, he just fucked you as hard and fast as he wanted with no regard for how you cried and struggled under him. He grabbed your hair and forced your head back awkwardly as you sobbed.

“Say my name,” he ordered, apparently irritated by the title of ‘Professor’ — but you didn’t know for sure if he wanted to be addressed as Jonathan or Scarecrow, and you feared the consequences if you chose incorrectly.

Still, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “J-Jonathan,” you spat out hoarsely, and he grinned happily before dropping you back onto the ground. You struggled against the belt around your wrists— not actually expecting to get out of it, and not having any plan if you did, just mainly out of instinct. All it did was dig the sharp edge of the leather into your skin, making you cry harder.

It rocked you back and forth on the ground, those rough thrusts— the friction inside you was hot and fast, and each time he slammed all the way in, you heard the clapping of skin on skin and felt his tip ram against the deepest places inside you. You didn’t even realize it was possible to be bruised inside like that, but you knew you would be by the end of this.

He didn’t slow down, really, but he changed his rhythm slightly and found an angle to go even just a bit deeper into you, until you whined pathetically with every pump into you. It seemed like the toxin was wearing off, in that you weren’t seeing things anymore, but there was still obviously a sick feeling in your stomach, and an unreliable beating in your chest, and a deep throbbing in your ears.

“You’re getting even wetter,” he noticed with a low chuckle, and you whimpered as you hoped not to have to acknowledge that. “Fucking soaking me— poor girl, I don’t think you can help it…”

At least it made this hurt a little less, but no amount of wetness could prevent him from holding your hips painfully tight and fucking you so forcefully it seemed hateful. You whined loudly with every movement, fingers curling into shaky fists even when it was useless with his belt restraining you.

When you turned your face to the side, you saw figures at the other end of the alley— not hallucinations, nothing scary, just passersby on the street— and you reached out for them instinctively as hope flooded your chest. Blinking the tears from your eyes, you could see them clearer: a man and woman, older, well-dressed. “P-please,” you croaked out in a broken voice, “please, help me— call the police—”

They heard you, and they turned and looked at you, only to grimace and turn away; the man pulled his date closer, shuffling her away with him as they kept walking. You whimpered pathetically, and Crane laughed above you. “That’s Gotham for you,” he mused. “No one wants to get involved. These are the people Batgirl wants to save?”

They weren’t the only ones who saw, either; later, a small crowd of young men in bandanas and baggy pants passed by— some of them looked young enough to still be in high school. You prayed to anything that would listen that they would move along without noticing, but one of them saw and pointed at you two with a scoffing laugh. Feeling as if you could throw up, you shut your eyes tight and heard the chorus of jeers as they realized what they were seeing. They laughed and hollered; what the fuck, dude! and ohh shit and hey, she’s pretty hot declared in juvenile voices between raunchy chuckles. You saw flashes of light when you blinked your eyes— were they taking pictures of this with their phones? You wondered if Jonathan would be forced to stop them, if he was concerned about evidence, but he didn’t react at all… he didn’t even slow down.

Once they’d gotten an eyeful and the sight had lost its shock, they wandered away— you could still hear their voices echoing around the buildings for a moment until it all faded in with the ambient sounds of the city: sirens, horns, footsteps, and that perpetual Gotham drizzle.

“I can feel it,” he whispered to you suddenly, “it keeps squeezing me. Such a needy fucking cunt.”

You didn’t know if the ‘cunt’ was referring to your anatomy or to you as a person, and either option made your throat a little dry— but dryness was the least of your problems between your legs, in fact you were pretty sure you were dripping now, you could feel how slippery and sticky you’d become. Your thighs were coated, it was even running down over your swelling and neglected clit.

He lowered himself a bit, resting his arms beside your head and breathing close to your ear. He even brushed some of your hair out of the way with his hand, wanting to get a better look at your face, and you shut your eyes.

Increasingly loud groans and sighs above you made you realize what was about to happen, just as much as the throbbing feeling inside you.

“F-fuck,” he let out in a scratchy voice. “Fuck!”

You whimpered yourself just as you heard him choke out a sort of high-pitched, shaky moan, and his thrusts went from erratic and desperate to slower and uneven. He twitched inside you, and you felt the flood of heat in impossible contrast to the cold ground under you.

“God…” he groaned, his hand on your shoulder tightening and digging a little too deep into your skin. Then he laughed a little as he finally came to a stop— breathless, light, almost making him sound impressed. With you or himself, it’s hard to say; it sounded like a laugh of relief.

A lump formed in your throat as you considered what you were supposed to do now— he’d just come inside you, raw, and it made your stomach sink (but it made your walls clench unexpectedly, too). As he carefully pulled out, you whimpered at the way it reawakened the sting of his first entrance— especially when he first pushed inside. He sighed heavily when he finally got himself out of you completely, and then his hands— hot, a little clammy, and strong— came into view to free your aching wrists from his belt.

He stood up over you, and you heard him readjust his trousers before zipping them up and putting back on his belt. “Was it good for you?” he asked with a quiet, but smug, chuckle.

Bringing your hands nearer to press against the ground, you tried to lift yourself up on shaking arms. When your torso was only a few inches off the pavement, Jonathan put his polished shoe on your back between your shoulder blades and pushed you back down. You whimpered as he looked down at you, tilting his head while he admired your helpless form.

“Stay down,” he ordered.

Finally taking his foot off of you, he picked his mask up from the ground, sighing as he shook some of the raindrops off of it and put it back on.

“Well,” he began with a sigh, his voice modulated by the sack over his head again, “I’ll see you in class. I look forward to seeing what you do with that paper.”

You didn’t watch him leave; you just heard the warehouse door shut again. Your eyes were looking blankly forward, blinking away stinging tears, looking at the way the neon lights of the buildings across the street reflected in the puddles on the ground.

You jolted, much more than necessary, when someone knocked on the bathroom door; it made the water in your bath ripple, though the fluffy white surface of the bubbles was hardly disturbed. “Can I come in?” you heard Bruce’s voice.

“Yeah,” you answered, but he stopped when he opened the door.

“You’re not decent,” he noticed, turning away.

“There’s bubbles everywhere, you can’t see anything,” you sighed, and he stepped the rest of the way in. A pause that both of you pretended wasn’t awkward occurred.

“Tim told me that you came back roughed up,” he said eventually.

You said nothing.

“I told you not to—” he began.

“I know.”

He sighed; you kept staring forward at the white tile wall in front of you. "What happened?" he asked simply.

“I know Tim told you already— two guys, probably Falcone’s— they went at me in a tunnel by the Southside,” you explained with a sigh. “I was just following a stolen van, I didn’t know who took it— I would’ve called you if I knew. I just wanted something I could handle on my own.”

You knew the story didn’t add up; Falcone’s men would’ve probably given you a black eye, maybe a broken nose, and bruises on your stomach from kicks and punches. Instead what you had were concrete scrapes on your cheek, fingerprint-sized bruises on your hips and thighs, and thin abrasions all around your wrists. Not to mention the jitters and auditory hallucinations from working Crane’s toxin out of your system— his voice, still in your ear: just a stupid little girl in a mask. You’d stopped looking over your shoulder by now, but your heart still raced every time.

You knew the story didn’t add up, but you knew it didn’t matter, because Bruce was going to buy it. He wasn’t ready to imagine the truth yet. This time, when you heard Crane’s voice, it wasn’t a hallucination but a memory: you sure were eager for an explanation.

Bruce nodded and began to walk out of the bathroom. “Alright,” he said. “Rest up.”

You scoffed to yourself as he left quietly— for a detective, he still had a few blindspots. Surely, we all do.

Left alone in the bathroom again, you were surrounded by silence once more. In silence, it was easier to hear his voice in your ear. Just a stupid little girl in a mask.

The shrill sound of your cell phone startled you, and you awkwardly leaned out of the tub just far enough to grab it off of the pile of towels you'd left it on.

"Hello?" you answered, irritation obvious in your tone.

“Hello, ma’am, this is Tracy from the Gotham University Student Wellness Center,” the sweet, lilting voice came from the other end of the line. “We recently received notice of concern that you may be experiencing domestic violence. We’d love for you to come into our office to discuss this and receive complementary counseling, when’s a good time that we could—?”

You hung up and tossed the phone away, sinking down into the water.

#cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy x reader #scarecrow smut #scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane dark fic

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trueishcolours · 1 month ago

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Cardinal Benitez moments I wish had made it into the film.

I was discussing Conclave with my mum and said that while it felt very fitting for an unknown actor to get his break with Cardinal Benitez, I thought the role could have been played with more nuance as he felt a bit one-note to me. Mum countered that she thought Carlos Diehz didn't have much to work with as the script 'just called for him to occasionally show up and look holy.' So I looked back through the book and found that Benitez does have a lot more varied moments which might have given Diehz more to get his teeth into if they'd made it into the film.

when he gets into a tiff with Bellini ON ARRIVAL at the Casa Santa Marta. Bellini says 'you probably shouldn't have come and now that you have come you probably can't go back' and Benitez is like 'well that's not up to you on either count, is it?'

then two minutes later Lomeli (book!Lawrence) is explaining the procedures of the Conclave and Benitez is like, 'aw heck, Bellini was right, I shouldn't have come.'

at dinner when Lomeli says, 'I must introduce you!' and Benitez is all 'nooooo I wanna just hide behind this pillar all evening because I'm shyyyyyyy'

(Lomeli trips over his own feet to reassure him both times it's really sweet. And I just think these moments of doubt help to highlight his courage. It's less impressive if he's calm and self-possessed the whole way through.)

In his conversation with Lomeli about whether or not he should vote for Tremblay, he almost accuses Lomeli of idolotry - worshipping the church rather than God! The Dean of the College! The largest cardinal!

And he says you're more likely to encounter the Holy Spirit in the victims of violence he's helped in his missions than in the Curia; he is NOT shy about throwing his experiences in people's faces and making them REAL uncomfortable if he thinks it will make his point.

(You can see the echoes of this conversation when Lawrence/Lomeli says to Bellini, 'I thought we were here to serve God, not the Curia - in the book, he's clearly taken Benitez' words on board)

After the bomb goes off and they're discussing what to do, Benitez gets up and says, 'excuse me, I guess this isn't proper procedure but I think what we should do is all agree to go back to the Sistine and elect Lomeli as pope' and it really makes you think, wow, this has NOT been the procedure but maybe it should be? If these people really were all united in desire to do what was best for the church and the world, wouldn't they just be able to sit down and openly discuss who they should all vote for instead of all this shadowy politicking? And Benitez cuts through that and it's actually this suggestion that triggers Tedesco's Islamophobic rant.

So yeah. More shyness and doubtfulness AND more fire from book!Benitez.

#monstrous blogs #conclave #conclave 2024 #conclave robert harris #vincent benitez

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purinfelix · 26 days ago

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doctor, doctor, help me - park jongseong ₊˚⊹

summary: after a strange encounter with a shadowy figure one night, you're roped into an even stranger routine of being a handsome fighter's personal nurse - but after almost two months of it, you've grown tired, even if he hasn't ──── street fighter jay x nursing student reader || sfw, angst, tension || w/c; 2.6k (holy moly this is the longest fic I've written in a while)

a/n: ok this is like the third time I've written a fic using this like ' nursing student patches up' trope BUT I CAN'T HELP IT i literally eat it up every single time and when i was watching the bts of the no doubt mv the idea literally came to me right there so i hope y'all enjoy !! <333

"You can't be serious."

The scold falls from your lips less as a response and more of an unconscious reaction to the man standing in front of you. You don't know what's worse, the several bruises littering his face, the split lip that's dribbling blood down his chin - or the fact that this isn't even the worst state you've seen him in.

It's not like you have time to decide anyway, because as soon as he shoots you that look - the guilty yet almost pleading half-smile, you're too weak to refuse.

"Get in," you huff, opening your apartment door wider for him to slip in quickly, and you glance both ways in the hallway to make sure no one sees him before shutting it.

"You said the other night would be the last time Jay," you say, watching as he stumbles unsteadily towards your couch where he falls with a tired sigh.

"Well, that's what I thought babe," he laughs and you feel something twist inside you at the petname, "but it's not like this business is very reliable, is it?"

"Well," you sigh, mocking his tone, "that's why I thought you said you'd be finding another job, one that doesn't involve you coming to me half-beaten to death every other night."

Your words are harsh, especially given the amount of pain you're sure he's in right now but after almost two months of this same routine, you're tired of it. Plus, you know what he needs to hear at times like this.

It had started one night when you went out late to take out the trash, only to be startled by a shadowy figure lurking in the bushes. After he assured you he wasn't a thief, and giving you time to catch your breath he was about to dash off - but the first thing you noticed was the dark red trickling down the side of his cheek and the messy way his dark hair fell over his thick brows. The second thing you noticed was the look in his eyes, rough and a little cold, but the longer you looked the softer it became until it was something vulnerable, almost bordering on fear.

You'd be heartless not to take him in.

That's what you told yourself as you tried your best to convince him to follow you back up to your apartment - knowing full well the irony and complete stupidity of letting a beat-up man wander into your home. He obliged and soon you were setting him down and fetching the first aid kit you had gotten in a recent practical lesson. In the warm light of your living room, you were able to get a better look at him - his bruised knuckles, dark baggy clothing but most of all, the amused, almost cocky smirk spreading across his lips as he watched you tend to him.

You were firm though, treating this purely as your professional duty as a nursing student as you patched up his scuffs - though you weren't going to let this opportunity go without at least getting some answers. After some questioning, and dodging his attempts to pry into your personal life, you found out his name - Jay - and what exactly he had been doing lurking in the bushes near your complex. Though 'working in an underground boxing ring' was an answer that definitely needed more explanation than you had anticipated.

Admittedly, the entire situation was a little entertaining to you, at least for the first couple of times - after all, it wasn't every day a handsome boxer stumbled onto your doorstep and let you carefully tend to his wounds. But maybe he had overestimated your generosity because he was soon back a week later, the week after that and soon it became an almost nightly occurrence - though you taught yourself to never count on his appearances.

Your patience was running thin, but your ability to continually see Jay in so much pain was running even thinner, even if this came out more as a harsh irritation than the careful worry you intended it to be.

"There's a thousand jobs that don't involve risking your personal safety, you know," you sigh in exasperation, pulling up a chair beside the couch he's sprawled upon. In his dark grungey clothes and messed up look, he sticks out starkly from your fluffy pillows and stuffed animals in an almost endearing way.

"Well most of those jobs don't pay half as well as this does," he laughs, pulling himself up so you can look at his face and as he does you try not to think too much about how he's getting far too used to this routine. "And the others, well, they won't even consider hiring a drop-out like me."

You grab him by the jaw, yanking him closer which earns a soft chuckle from him even as you force yourself to look stern. "Have you even tried? I mean, money isn't everything, you know," you mumble, "I know the convenience store around the corner from here is hiring, you could look there."

"Right because I'm just the kind of guy for stocking shelves and heating up ramen for people," he scoffs coolly, eyes watching as you prepare cotton balls of antiseptic.

You let out a frustrated exhale, beginning your work on his injuries in concentrated silence. He only sits there, surprisingly obedient, as you dab his open cuts, not even wincing in pain. After all, this isn't the first time you've patched him up and you're pretty sure it won't be the last, so this strange routine the two of you have fallen into brings an even stranger sense of comfort. Despite that, and all your efforts at professionalism, it's difficult not to get just a little bit flustered whenever you have to touch his face, or when he makes snide flirty comments that you're sure he doesn't mean.

As if summoned by your thoughts, he pipes up again. "But then again, that would mean I'd be closer to you, princess," his voice barely above a teasing whisper.

You narrow your eyes at him, "If it means I get to see you in that cute little apron and not like this then sure." He lets out an amused chuckle, seemingly enjoying you playing into his conversation for once. You lean back to grab more gauze from your kit but the sound of his voice catches you off guard.

"Have you got a boyfriend?"

Despite knowing each other for a couple of months now, you and Jay actually know very little about each other - having made a silent agreement since that first night not to ask questions that were too personal. Anything that strayed beyond names, jobs and how the weather had been was off-limits. This had mostly been your way of avoiding getting too attached to him, or whatever sort of relationship you two had, since you were sure that would only end badly - and you had been glad that he respected your wishes.

Or at least he had.

"Wha-" you stutter, whipping your head back around to look at him "Why are you suddenly asking me that?"

"Well, I was just thinking, if you do, he mustn't be that happy about you getting so close with some random guy you barely know, right?" He's leaning back against the couch, eyes wandering your apartment seemingly for any sign of male presence.

"Unless," he says again, now leaning back towards you, so close you can feel his breath against your cheek as he whispers, "You haven't told him about us?" You hate how low and teasing his tone is, and whatever it is he's implying, but you hate the way you can feel your cheeks flushing under his gaze even more.

"Not that it's any of your business, but no, I don't have a boyfriend," you huff, "and it's not like there's an us for me to tell anyone about anyways unless I'm complaining about the cocky jerk that keeps bothering me every week."

"Aah, I'm surprised," he laughs to himself, brushing off your jab at him, "figured a cute thing like yourself would've been snatched up already, but I mean, I think I like being your little secret anyways, hm?"

"Just shut up and stay still."

"Yes doc," he says, amused at your reaction but doing as you say and soon the two of you fall into silence once more - you busy with placing bandaids over his face, neck and shoulders, and him watching you carefully. But the silence grows thick and heavy, and soon it's too much for even you to take.

"So," you start up, a little awkwardly, "how about you, have you got a girlfriend?"

You avoid his eye as you ask the question, already knowing exactly the kind of irritating expression he's donning.

"Oh, what happened to keeping out of each other's personal lives?" he scoffs.

"I'm just trying to make conversation, Jay," you sigh firmly.

"Well, not that it's any of your business," you bite your bottom lip as he mocks your previous response, "but no, I don't. Well, I used to, actually, she dumped me less than a week before I met you."

"Really?" you can't control the surprised tone that falls from your lips, but if you're being honest, with his looks, you're shocked he doesn't have a girlfriend - or at least several girls chasing after him.

"Yeah, well it's not easy to date a guy that comes home looking like this every other night," he laughs coolly but even as he does you can tell there's an undertone of hurt, "plus, she always wanted to go out at night and that was when I worked."

You nod slowly, "right." Your response is curt, partially because you're busy peeling a bandaid but mostly because you're not really sure of what else to say.

The conversation falls to a halt and silently you motion for him to come a little closer so that you can have a look at his split lip. It's pretty gnarly, even though you've managed to wipe up most of the blood that was coming out of it. Carefully, you run your thumb over the open wound as you inspect it but this earns a quiet hiss of pain from your patient and you pull back.

"Sorry," you mumble quickly, eyes scanning his face.

"It's alright angel," he sighs, nodding for you to continue.

You do as he says, working quickly to place a small bandaid over the lip, trying not to think too much about how you can feel his warm breaths on your gentle fingers. It doesn't help that his gaze doesn't leave you once, and every time your eyes flicker up they meet his causing your cheeks to grow embarrassingly hot.

But with that, you've finished patching up all of his injuries and can lean back with a relieved sigh as you brush your hands against each other. He sits back with a smile, watching as you pack up your kit and return it to the kitchen drawer you got it from.

"Hey, how was that exam you had?"

You pause - brows furrowing. You had mentioned that almost two weeks ago, and he remembered it?

"Oh, it went well, I'm surprised you remembered that."

"Why wouldn't I?" he says, and you'd think he was teasing you again until you poke your head around the corner and catch his earnest expression. "You told me, so I remembered."

"Well, yeah," you scoff, "but you were like half asleep and also in intense pain, I was just trying to talk to distract you from it."

He nods, his lip forming a thin line as he hangs his head with a soft laugh to himself, "Right, of course."

You feel a strange twist in your stomach, suddenly aware that maybe, for once, he wasn't trying to pry into your life for the sake of annoying you, but maybe trying to get to know you a little better. Still, the opportunity has left and now you continue your routine like always.

"So, you're all good?" you say, trailing back into the living room, "need any painkillers?" He shakes his head silently, slender fingers fiddling with the material on his pants as he bounces his knee almost impatiently.

Usually, this is the part where he leaves. Once you've served your purpose, done your job of fixing him up and exchanged small talk there's no reason for him to stick around anyway - it's not like the two of you are friends, or even know each other that well for that matter. At first, this fact seemed natural but the longer this weird relationship stretches on for, the more you find yourself dreading each of his departures. You're not sure why, since you scold him every time he reappears, but a small part of you feels a certain relief seeing him at your doorstep, even if he is struggling to hold himself up - because at least you get to see him again, even if just for one night.

"I should go, right?" he hums right on cue, looking up at you with a conflicted look - almost as if he's begging you to tell him otherwise.

"Well," you begin, chewing your bottom lip in thought, taking his silent plea to heart, "your injuries are pretty bad, so if you want you can rest here for a little longer." You rub the back of your neck in an attempt to make your request sound a little more casual than it actually is, but you should've known he'd catch on too fast.

"Are you asking me to stay the night?" He asks, the side of his mouth quirked up in an amused, but also touched, smirk.

"Don't make me change my mind, Jay," your sternness returns and he only holds his hands up in surrender as he nods with a soft laugh.

"Got it." He looks around, "is it alright if I just crash here then?"

You nod, "If you need anything just call out, alright? My room's just over there." You watch as he makes himself comfortable, stretching out across your couch which he barely fits on given his height. As he does you finally get a glimpse of the fatigue washing over him as he lays his head down on one of your fluffy pillows.

"Goodnight Jay," you call as you start making your way to your room, flicking off the living room light as you do.

"Goodnight doc," he replies in a lighthearted tone, and you pause at your doorway to get one last glance at him. He's already drifting off when you do, and despite your better judgement you can't help but smile to yourself at how peaceful he looks - a stark contrast to his usually cocky demeanour.

Maybe in another life, you two didn't meet the way you did. Maybe he had a job that didn't involve him putting his life on the line just to make a living, or you could help in a way other than just cleaning up his collateral damage, in a way that really mattered. Maybe you two could have real conversations about your days, without having to skip over the personal details. Maybe, just maybe, you might get to see him during the daytime, face illuminated by something other than your living room lamp and uninjured, for once.

But exhaustion quickly hits you too, forcing your thoughts to a stop. Settling into your own bed you couldn't help but pause to wonder if letting him stay the night was crossing the imaginary line you'd drawn since the first night, bridging the gap you'd sworn to keep between you and Jay. But as you feel yourself drifting off to sleep, the knowledge of him safe in the next room over enough to calm your mind, you find yourself strangely okay with that possibility.

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beejunos · 6 months ago

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ANIMAL INSTINCTS | Alastor x f.reader

Summary: An unexpected rut makes you and Alastor act upon your feelings. Desperately and intensely.

This story was requested by @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog. The idea for the story is completely theirs; I just had the pleasure of putting it into words, and hopefully, I did a good job. Enjoy, darlings!

Tags: Dom!Alastor, rut, biting, smut, doggy style (the position is actually called prone bone, but that's a weird name if you ask me), creampie

For the most part, life in Hell mirrored life on Earth. There were homes, stores, libraries, work and gyms. Sinners went to restaurants with their friends and bought flowers for their lovers. Life in Hell could be quite pleasant if one could ignore all the violence and chaos.

Alastor revelled in the stark contrast between the underworld and Earth. Here, he found that everyone had shed their masks, revealing their true nature without the façade of modesty or fake politeness. The freedom he felt in Hell was unparalleled. Here, he didn't have to suppress his instincts; he could openly embrace them without fear of judgment or reproach. In this realm, he no longer needed to lurk in the shadows or carefully stalk his prey. Instead, he basked in the unbridled power and control he had meticulously crafted for himself, relishing in the unfiltered expression of his true self.

There was just one thing that put a wrench in his otherwise perfect afterlife. His demonic body.

In the depths of Hell, Alastor had encountered a multitude of sinners over the years, each with their own unique and otherworldly appearance. Some exhibited minor demonic features such as pointy ears and sharp teeth, while others had undergone a complete transformation, like the sinner whose very essence had been twisted into a demonic couch. At first, Alastor had felt a pang of sympathy for the unfortunate soul trapped in such an unusual form. However, as time passed, he found himself more amused by the bizarre and often tragic circumstances of the damned. Such encounters became a part of his daily routine in the underworld.

Alastor considered himself among the fortunate few with a body almost identical to a human's. Despite initially struggling with his large and overly sensitive ears, he was still considered quite handsome by demonic standards. However, it was not just the ears that were new to him.

When alive, Alastor quickly realised that while others did not share his murderous instincts, he lacked some of the instincts others seemed to have. For all his life, he never sought to do the devil's tango, as one of his old friends used to call sex. He had tried it a few times, mostly just to see what the fuss was about and because it seemed to be expected of him to want it, but after it all, it just seemed more trouble than it was worth. For most of his short human life, Alastor never desired the human body but the blood that pumped through its veins.

However, this all changed the day he woke up in Hell.

It quickly became apparent to Alastor that he had woken up as some form of demonic deer-man, something he had initially been quite disappointed in since he didn't feel like it conveyed a strong enough message to the other sinners. However, when his shadow had manifested with increased powers, Alastor embraced his new, formidable body with contentment. For years, Alastor revelled in his new body and his new life in Hell.

He was strong. Stronger than his human body had ever been before, he found that he could finally live entirely after his compass with Hell's lack of rules. But Hell is still Hell. Meant to torment the souls of the damned, and torment did strike Alastor after a few years in the afterlife.

As he would later come to name it, the Need crept into Alastor's being like a shadowy predator stalking its prey, stealthy and deliberate. It didn't strike all at once, but rather, it sank its insidious teeth into his tender flesh slowly, so slowly that he barely noticed at first. Like a venomous serpent, it released its poison in measured doses, corrupting his thoughts and warping his desires, turning his own body into an alien battlefield. Once sharp and disciplined, his mind began to fragment under the strain, waging war against the primal urges that had begun to claw their way to the surface.

The first time the Need truly manifested within him was nothing short of a revelation. It started as a faint tremor in his gut, a gnawing sensation that he couldn't quite place. It was an ache, a deep, pulsing hunger that steadily grew, coiling tighter and tighter within him until it felt like a living thing pressing against the confines of his very skin, desperate to break free. The hunger wasn't for food, though; it was something far more dangerous and primal. It was a desire that went beyond the physical, a craving that no amount of flesh could satisfy. This hunger wanted more—to hunt, chase, and devour. It yearned to sink its teeth into the tender skin of another, to drink deeply of their essence, to taste the raw, pulsing vitality that lay beneath.

At first, Alastor was bewildered by these new sensations. He had known hunger before, of course, but this was different, more intense, more consuming. It felt as though a part of him had awakened that he hadn't even known existed—a part that was wild and untamed, a beast that had slumbered deep within him, only now rousing from its ancient sleep. He tried to dismiss it, to ignore the insistent, throbbing ache that had settled into his bones, attributing it to the peculiarities of his demonic form. Perhaps, he thought, it was merely a quirk of his new existence, a strange dietary need that would soon pass.

Driven by this belief, he made his way to Cannibal Town several times, drawn by the tantalising scent of fresh, raw flesh. There, in the beautiful shops, he indulged in every manner of meat, tearing through pounds of it in search of relief. He savoured the rich, iron taste of blood, the texture of muscle and fat, and the crunch of bone between his teeth, but it was all in vain. No matter how much he ate, the hunger remained, gnawing at him from the inside out, growing stronger with each passing day. It was as though the food he consumed simply vanished into a void, leaving him more ravenous than before. The Need was insatiable, a bottomless pit that could not be filled by any earthly sustenance.

As the days turned into weeks, the hunger grew stronger and more demanding until it became a constant, aching presence in his life. It whispered to him in the dead of night, its voice seductive and dark, urging him to give in, to surrender to the primal urges that coursed through his veins. The Need was no longer content to simply lurk in the shadows of his mind; it wanted out. It wanted to take control, to drive him to the brink of madness. Alastor could feel it in every fibre of his being, a relentless, thrumming pulse that matched the beat of his heart, pushing him ever closer to the edge.

The realisation of what the Need truly was hit him like a bolt of lightning on a stormy night, sudden and terrifying in its clarity. It wasn't just a hunger for food, for flesh—it was a hunger for something more profound, more intimate. The Need wasn't just physical; it was carnal, a desperate, all-consuming desire for connection, for the raw, sensual meeting of bodies. It was a hunger for a mate, for the sweet release that could only come from the merging of two beings, from the surrender to the primal dance of desire.

With this revelation came a new kind of fear, one that gripped him tightly and refused to let go. Alastor was a creature of control, a being who prided himself on his ability to remain composed and detached, even in the face of the most extreme temptations. But this…this was different. The Need was something he couldn't control or suppress, no matter how hard he tried. It was a force of nature, a storm that raged within him, threatening to tear him apart from the inside out.

In his desperation, Alastor withdrew from the world, retreating to the safety of his own home, where he could hide from the prying eyes of others. He couldn't bear the thought of anyone seeing him like this, of anyone witnessing the raw, unbridled Need that had taken hold of him. The isolation was a double-edged sword—it gave him the space he needed to think and regain control, but it also left him alone with his thoughts, with the dark, twisted desires that refused to be ignored.

The Need gnawed at him day and night, a relentless, insistent presence that demanded to be satisfied. It filled his dreams with visions of flesh and heat, of bodies entwined in a desperate, frenzied dance. He could feel it in every touch, every breath, every beat of his heart—a yearning, a craving that consumed him utterly. He was starving, not for food, but for the touch of another, for the sweet, intoxicating release that could only come from the union of two beings.

As the days stretched into weeks, Alastor found himself on the brink of surrender, teetering on the edge of a precipice from which there might be no return. The Need had become a living thing, a beast that demanded to be fed, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before he could no longer resist its call. The hunger was too strong, too all-encompassing, and he was only a man—demon or not—trying to resist the inexorable pull of nature.

Ultimately, Alastor knew he could only hold out for so long. The Need was a part of him now, a dark and twisted companion that would never leave him, never allow him a moment's peace. It was both a curse and a revelation, a reminder that even in the depths of Hell, even in the heart of a demon, the most primal of instincts could never be wholly denied.

And then, just as it had once been there, the Need disappeared, and he was himself again. However, that did not comfort him, for he now knew that this new existence was just a part of his new body, his new life in Hell—a seasonal rut.

Life at the hotel often teetered on the edge of sheer chaos, like a tightrope walker balancing precariously above a roaring fire. Yet, in its bizarre way, it maintained a strange sense of peace—well, as peaceful as one could hope for in a place that served as a rehabilitation centre for wayward souls in the depths of Hell. The air itself seemed to hum with the constant tension between serenity and madness, as if the very walls of the hotel were alive, listening, and waiting for the next outburst. But despite the madness that swirled around you, you found solace in the routine of it all. You had a roof over your head, work that brought a sense of purpose, and friends who felt like family, albeit an unconventional one. In a realm where despair could easily consume you, in your humble opinion, these small blessings were worth more than all the riches in Heaven.

As a hotel maid, your days were usually filled with mundane housekeeping tasks—dusting off ancient chandeliers that hung like eerie spectres from the ceilings, scrubbing the seemingly endless floors that stretched out in labyrinthine corridors, and changing the sheets on beds that often bore the remnants of restless nights. The hotel itself was a monstrous, sprawling structure, its architecture a twisted blend of grandeur and hellish decay.

Occasionally, a guest or someone connected to the guests would lose control of their composure and attack the hotel. You had witnessed more than one instance where someone's emotional outburst resulted in a massive hole being blasted through the wall, or worse, through the roof. Alastor, the enigmatic and unsettling overseer of the hotel, would then swiftly summon shadowy, spectral figures to repair the damage. These figures moved with a ghostly grace, their forms flickering like candle flames in a drafty room, and they worked with an efficiency that was both mesmerising and unnerving. You had learned early on not to question it. Alastor had an aura of menace about him that made the others shy away from him, but to you, there was something intriguing about him. Something that pulled you to him. It could, naturally, be that he was a deer type of sinner, just like you, and you had never seen someone else like that before him.

Then there was Nifty, your fellow maid and a whirlwind of energy. She was small in stature but mighty in her work, flitting from room to room like a hyperactive sprite, cleaning with a speed and precision that was almost supernatural. She had a knack for tidying up even the most disastrous of messes in record time, leaving rooms spotless and gleaming as if nothing had ever been amiss. In the beginning, you had tried to keep up with her pace, but it quickly became apparent that this was a futile effort. Instead, you decided to focus on another crucial aspect of the hotel's operations—cooking.

In a place like this, where the boundaries between reality and nightmare were often blurred, food became an anchor, something tangible and comforting in an otherwise unpredictable existence. You took it upon yourself to prepare meals for the staff and guests, finding a strange kind of peace in the rhythmic motions of chopping vegetables, stirring pots, and seasoning dishes. The kitchen became your sanctuary, a place where you could lose yourself in the art of cooking and crafting meals that provided a brief respite from the chaos outside. You would experiment with recipes, combining ingredients in ways that were both traditional and wildly unconventional, catering to the eclectic tastes of your infernal clientele.

Each dish was a labour of love, an offering to those who, like you, sought comfort in the small pleasures that life—or the afterlife—could still offer. And when the day was done, the last plate was washed, and the kitchen was quiet, you would sit back with a cup of tea, savouring the calm that settled over the hotel in those rare, precious moments of tranquillity. Ultimately, it wasn't just about surviving in Hell; it was about finding those fleeting moments of peace and holding onto them for as long as possible.

On a day much like any other, you awoke in your bed, the soft rays of early morning light filtering through the gaps in your heavy curtains. The light seemed to dance as it crept into your room, casting delicate patterns on the floorboards and chasing away the remnants of sleep from your eyes. The air was still, with only the faint hum of a distant world waking up beyond the confines of your room. You lingered for a moment, savouring the stillness, before reluctantly pushing back the covers and rising to meet the day.

Your feet touched the cool wooden floor, the sensation both grounding and invigorating, pulling you further from the grasp of sleep. You moved through the motions of getting dressed, slipping into your familiar work clothes—soft, well-worn fabrics that wrapped around you like an old friend. The final step before heading downstairs was the comforting weight of your apron, slung over your neck and tied at your waist.

The Hazbin Hotel, usually alive with the bustling energy of its residents, was enveloped in a rare, profound silence. With its long, winding corridors and grand, if somewhat faded, décor, the building took on a different character in these early hours. The ornate walls, adorned with tapestries and portraits, stood still as if holding their breath, waiting for the inevitable stirrings of life to resume. Yet in these moments, before the chaos of the day began, you found a certain peace that was otherwise elusive. The quietude of the morning allowed you to appreciate the old hotel's charm—the way the light from the grand windows caught the intricate patterns of the wallpaper, the scent of old wood and polished floors, and the echoes of footsteps long past that seemed to linger in the air.

Descending the grand staircase, your hand brushed along the polished bannister, the cool surface smooth beneath your fingers. The echo of your footfalls on the wooden steps was a comforting, familiar, and constant sound. Each step brought you closer to your favourite part of the day—those first few moments in the kitchen, before anyone else stirred, where you could begin your morning rituals in solitude.

The kitchen was the hotel's heart for you. The dark wooden cabinets stood tall against the walls, their surfaces worn from years of use but still sturdy, holding all the secrets of your culinary endeavours within them. The floor, a classic checkered pattern of black and white tiles, was cool underfoot and always spotlessly clean—a testament to your careful attention. And then there was the range, a magnificent maroon beast that dominated the wall opposite the kitchen entrance. It was more than just an appliance; it was an old friend, a companion that had seen countless loaves of bread, pastries, and roasts emerge from its fiery belly.

You approached the old pantry to the left of the entrance, its door creaking slightly as you pulled it open. Inside, shelves lined with jars and tins, spices and dried herbs greeted you with the promise of a thousand possible dishes. But this morning, as with every other, your hand reached for the small, hand-cranked coffee grinder and the tin of coffee beans. The grinder was a cherished antique, its wooden body smooth from years of use, its metal crank polished to a dull sheen by the countless hands that had turned it. The beans rattled lightly as you poured them into the grinder, their rich aroma already beginning to fill the small space.

With a steady rhythm, you began to turn the crank, the gears inside humming quietly as they crushed the beans into a fine powder. The scent of fresh coffee intensified, mingling with the faint smell of cinnamon and vanilla that still clung to the air from yesterday's baking. You allowed yourself a moment to enjoy the fragrance, the anticipation of that first sip bringing a small smile to your lips.

Once the beans were ground to your satisfaction, you carefully emptied them into the percolator, setting them on the stovetop. As the percolator began to bubble and hiss, filling the room with the comforting sound of coffee brewing, you turned your attention to a small plate on the counter. Nestled on a doily were some cardamom buns—a remnant of yesterday's efforts. The buns were golden brown, its surfaces dusted with sugar, and the scent of cardamom was still strong.

You took one of the buns in your hand, breaking off a piece and savouring the soft, fragrant dough as it melted in your mouth. It was smooth, buttery, spicy and comforting, the perfect balance to the strong coffee that was nearly ready. You knew that starting your day with only coffee on an empty stomach wasn't the wisest choice, but with the cardamom bun in hand, the morning felt just a little more right.

As the last drops of coffee dripped into the pot, you poured yourself a cup, the dark liquid steaming gently. You took a deep breath, savouring the aroma before taking a cautious sip. The warmth spread through you, a quiet joy. This was your moment, a small piece of serenity before the day began. And in this stillness, in the gentle light filtering through the curtains and the soft hum of the hotel around you, you found contentment.

As you sat perched on the kitchen counter, your legs gently swinging back and forth, you sipped your coffee and savoured the last bite of your cardamom bun. The comforting warmth of the cup in your hands and the sweetness of the bun created a perfect start to the morning. The kitchen, bathed in the soft glow of the early light, was a tranquil haven, and you felt a sense of peace that was rare in the Hazbin Hotel. Your thoughts were only on the present moment, relishing the quiet solitude that these early hours afforded you.

But then, the serenity was gently disrupted by the soft creak of the kitchen door swinging open. You glanced up to see Alastor enter the room. His presence, though familiar, always sent a slight thrill through you. Today was no different. Clad in his trademark red and black striped suit, he appeared every bit the dashing and enigmatic figure you had grown to love. His posture was impeccable, as always, with his shoulders square and his back straight, projecting the image of effortless composure. But you noticed something others might not—a slight lethargy in his movements, a subtle delay in his usual brisk steps. Though still glowing with that unnatural red intensity, his eyes seemed to carry the faintest hint of weariness. He looked like he’d had a restless night.

It was a knowledge that only came with time. You had spent countless hours watching him, learning his habits, his idiosyncrasies, how his smile would linger just a fraction longer when he was genuinely amused or how his voice would drop ever so slightly when he was tired. These were the details that no one else noticed, the hidden truths you cherished as a testament to how well you knew him.

"Good morning, Alastor," you greeted him cheerfully, your voice light and melodic, not unlike the chirping of birds heralding the dawn. The words slipped out with ease, a reflection of the joy you felt in these quiet moments alone with him.

Alastor's eyes, as crimson as freshly spilt wine, turned towards you. Though sharp and intense, his gaze softened slightly as it met yours. And then came that smile that never failed to send butterflies tumbling through your stomach. It was a smile that could charm or disarm, depending on his mood, but to you, it was simply Alastor, the man who had somehow captured your heart.

"Good morning, my sweet," he replied, his voice carrying the remnants of sleep, a slight rasp that added an unexpected intimacy to his greeting. The nickname, one he had affectionately bestowed upon you, never failed to make your heart skip a beat. It had originated one evening when he had wandered into the kitchen in search of the bottle of rye Vaggie had hidden. Instead, he had found you, elbows deep in a mixing bowl, powdered sugar dusting your nose and cheeks as you prepared a batch of cookies. The moment had been simple, unremarkable to anyone else, but it had marked the beginning of something special between you.

A faint blush crept across your cheeks as you recalled the memory. The warmth of his words mingled with the warmth of the coffee still cradled in your hands. Alastor's presence always had that effect on you—an intoxicating mix of excitement and comfort, of familiarity and mystery.

"The coffee is ready, just as always," you said with a smile, nodding towards the cup you had thoughtfully placed on the counter beside you. It was a small gesture but one that had become a part of your morning routine, a quiet act of affection that you performed without fail. You knew how much he enjoyed his strong and black coffee, and you took pride in ensuring that it was ready for him the moment he stepped into the kitchen.

Alastor's gaze followed yours to the cup, and his smile widened, a glint of appreciation in his eyes.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice now smooth and warm, like honey. He reached for the cup, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest of moments—a touch so fleeting yet so charged with meaning that it sent a shiver down your spine. He lifted the cup to his lips, inhaling the rich aroma before taking a slow, deliberate sip. You watched him, your heart swelling with quiet happiness as you observed the way his eyes half-closed in contentment, the weariness in his expression easing ever so slightly.

As you sat there, the two of you cocooned in the quiet of the kitchen; you couldn't help but reflect on how these small moments had come to mean so much to you. It was in the stillness of the morning before the rest of the hotel awoke that you felt closest to him. These were the moments where you could be yourselves without the pretence or bravado that often accompanied life at the Hazbin Hotel.

You had long since discovered that Alastor, for all his flamboyance and charm, was a creature of habit. He liked his routines, and once you realised that he preferred to have his morning coffee around the same time as you, it became a shared ritual—a way to carve out a small piece of the day that belonged to just the two of you. It was a subtle dance, a quiet partnership, and you cherished it more than you could ever express in words.

As he took another sip of his coffee, you found yourself lost in the simple pleasure of being near him, of sharing these unspoken moments. There was a comfort in the routine, in the knowledge that, for this brief time each day, it was just the two of you against the world. And in that thought, you found a sense of contentment that made the early mornings all the more worthwhile.

As you sipped your coffee together, the familiar comfort of Alastor's presence mingled with a growing, unbidden sensation deep within you. The fluttering butterflies in your stomach, which had always been a pleasant reminder of your feelings for him, began to stir with a new intensity. Their delicate wings, once only a source of lightness and joy, now seemed to brush against something more profound and primal. The tingling sensation spread through you, igniting a warmth that travelled lower, coiling deep within your core. You blinked, startled by the sudden realisation—the butterflies had transformed into something else entirely, a throbbing ache that could only be the unmistakable stirrings of arousal.

Startled by the intensity of your own desire, you quickly jumped down from the counter, your feet hitting the cool tiles with a soft thud. In a hurried attempt to mask your flustered state, you downed the remainder of your coffee in one swift gulp, the liquid scalding your throat but distracting you momentarily from the heat pooling in your lower abdomen. The sudden rush of movement seemed to amplify the blood pounding in your ears, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

Desperate to avoid Alastor's gaze, you rushed to the sink, your hands trembling slightly as you fumbled to place your cup and plate inside. The clatter of dishes rang out, the sound unnervingly loud in the otherwise quiet kitchen. Words tumbled out of your mouth in a clumsy attempt to divert his attention, to keep him from noticing the flush that had crept up your neck and settled on your cheeks.

"Well, this was truly wonderful, Alastor, as always, but now I really must get back to work!" you stammered, your voice higher than usual, betraying your anxiety. Without daring to look back, you spun around, intent on making a hasty retreat from the kitchen and the overwhelming tension that had suddenly thickened the air.

But instead of the open space you expected, you found yourself colliding with a solid chest. You gasped, the breath catching in your throat as you realised that Alastor had moved completely silently and now stood directly behind you. Your heart leapt into your throat as you tilted your head back to meet his gaze. His crimson eyes, usually so playful and full of mischief, were now darkened with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

Alastor's right hand was hidden behind his back, his left still holding the coffee cup, though it seemed to have been forgotten. He studied you with an almost unnerving focus, his gaze piercing as if he could see straight into the depths of your soul. Yet, something was distant in his eyes, as if part of him was lost in thought, grappling with something unseen. His breaths came slow and deep; each inhale seemed to draw the air from the room, leaving you breathless in his presence.

You instinctively backed up, the edge of the counter-pressing into the small of your back as you tried to create some distance, though your body betrayed you by leaning forward, drawn inexplicably closer to him. The air between you was thick, charged with a tension that felt almost palpable as if it had a life of its own. You could feel the energy crackling between you, something heavy, potent, and utterly intoxicating.

Alastor's eyes bore into yours, and you could see the flicker of something carnal, something raw and unrestrained, within their crimson depths. The intensity of his gaze sent a wave of heat coursing through you, settling deep in your belly, where the ache from before had grown into a full-fledged hunger. His laboured breathing mirrored your own, the rise and fall of his chest almost hypnotic as you matched his rhythm, each breath filling you with a heady mixture of anticipation and longing.

For a moment, the world outside the kitchen ceased to exist, the only reality being the charged space between you and Alastor. The very air seemed to hum with the unsaid, the unacknowledged desires that had long been simmering just beneath the surface. The silence stretched out, heavy and loaded, thick with unspoken words and the magnetic pull of mutual attraction.

And then, as if on some unspoken cue, Alastor took a step closer, closing the small distance between you, his body heat enveloping you like a warm, intoxicating fog. His free hand, the one hidden behind his back, suddenly appeared at your waist, fingers brushing against your side with a touch so light it was almost imperceptible. Yet, it sent a jolt of electricity through your entire being. The delicate caress was enough to draw a soft gasp from your lips, a sound that seemed to hang in the air between you.

His touch lingered, the pressure of his fingers increasing ever so slightly as he held you in place, preventing any thoughts of escape. You could feel the power in his grip, the barely restrained strength that lay beneath the surface, and it thrilled you to no end. Your pulse quickened, each beat echoing in your ears, and you found yourself leaning into his touch, craving more of the sensation, more of him.

Alastor's eyes darkened further as he noticed your reaction, a slow, predatory smile curling at the corners of his lips. His head dipped slightly, his breath ghosting over your ear as he whispered, voice low and laced with a dangerous, seductive edge.

"What is it, my dear? You seem… restless." The sound of his voice, so close and intimate, sent a shiver racing down your spine, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you whole. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him, couldn't suppress the desire that was rapidly spiralling out of control.

"Alastor, what are you doing?" Your voice, though quiet, held a steady resolve. Even as your heart raced with the thrill of being this close to him, a flicker of concern danced in the back of your mind. This behaviour was unlike anything you had ever seen from him before. Alastor had always been composed, a master of his emotions and actions, yet now there was something different in how he looked at you, wild and untamed. The intensity in his crimson eyes stirred a mixture of excitement and trepidation within you. You didn't want him to stop, but you needed to understand what was happening and what that look in his eyes truly meant.

As if your words had snapped him out of a trance, Alastor blinked, his expression momentarily softening. He seemed to realise how close he was to you, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he withdrew his hand from your waist. The absence of his touch left a cold void where his warmth had been, and a strange sense of longing settled in its place.

Without a word, he turned slightly, reaching over to place his cup in the sink. But to do so, he had to lean forward, his body brushing against yours most tantalisingly. Your breath hitched as his face came mere centimetres from your neck, and in that moment, you felt his breath warm against your skin. Then, he inhaled sharply, his nose grazing the curve of your neck as he took in your scent. The intimate gesture sent a jolt of electricity through you, making your entire body tingle with awareness.

The soft sound of his inhale, almost a sigh, was filled with a hunger that sent your heart racing, and before you could react, the sharp clatter of the cup hitting the metal sink broke the spell. You flinched slightly at the noise, your startled gaze flying back to his face. But before you could form the words to ask him why he had done it, why he had drawn so close only to retreat, he was already moving away, his form dissolving into the shadows that clung to the edges of the room.

Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as you stared at the space where he had been, your mind reeling from the sudden shift in the atmosphere. The air still crackled with the remnants of his presence, heavy with an unspoken desire that had hung between you like a charged storm cloud. You could still feel the ghost of his breath on your neck, the faint warmth of his body against yours, and it left you yearning for more, craving the touch that had been so abruptly withdrawn.

For a moment, you remained frozen in place, your senses still overwhelmed by the lingering traces of his closeness. His scent—a mix of dark spices and something uniquely Alastor—still clung to the air, wrapping around you like an invisible cloak. Your skin tingled where his hand had rested, your neck burning where his breath had touched. The memory of that fleeting moment was enough to set your pulse racing once more, the ache in your core intensifying with every passing second.

You couldn't shake the image of his eyes, the way they had darkened with something raw and primal as he had leaned in. It was as if a dam had cracked within him, and for the briefest of moments, you had glimpsed the depth of his desire—a desire that mirrored your own. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, your body responding to the mere memory of his touch.

But then, just as quickly as it had all begun, it was over, and the kitchen was once again empty, the shadows swallowing him whole. You were left standing there, your heart pounding in your chest, your body still humming with unfulfilled need. You knew that this encounter had changed something between you, and you had opened a door that could never be closed. And even though he had disappeared into the darkness, you couldn't help but feel that this was only the beginning, that whatever had ignited between you was far from extinguished.

The hunger in his eyes and the way he had inhaled your scent as if trying to memorise it were not things that could be easily forgotten. And as you stood there, the silence of the kitchen pressing in around you, you realised that you didn't want to ignore them. You wanted more. More of the closeness, more of the heat that had flared so suddenly between you, more of the man who had just vanished into the shadows but who, you knew, would never be far from your thoughts again.

The encounter with Alastor in the kitchen earlier this morning had left you confused, yet you couldn't deny the raw energy that still coursed through your veins. His touch, the way he had leaned in so close, his breath on your neck—it had all been so brief, yet so intense. The memory of it lingered, simmering just beneath your skin, a constant reminder of the hunger that had been awakened within you. It was a sensation you couldn't shake, a burning need that gnawed at your insides and left you restless. You tried to make sense of it, to understand what had transpired between you, but the more you thought about it, the more you realised that understanding was not what you craved. What you wanted, what you needed, was to find him again, to confront the tension that had sparked between you and see if he had felt it too.

With a sense of determination, you decided to channel that restless energy into something productive, something that might draw him to you. Alastor had always had a peculiar taste when it came to sweets—he wasn't one for sugary confections. But you knew he had a weakness for rich, decadent chocolate, the kind that was bittersweet, with just the right balance of indulgence and restraint.

The idea struck you then, sudden and insistent. You would bake something for him, something that would carry the weight of your unspoken desires, a message wrapped in layers of dark chocolate and anticipation.

In the quiet of the kitchen, you set to work, your movements purposeful and precise. You gathered the ingredients, each one a piece of the puzzle you were crafting for him: dark cocoa, rich butter, a hint of espresso to deepen the flavour, and just a touch of sweetness—enough to balance the bitterness without overpowering it. As you melted the chocolate and mixed the batter, your mind drifted back to that moment in the kitchen, the heat of his body so close to yours, the intensity in his gaze. The memory only fuelled your determination, adding a particular fervour to your work. You poured the thick, glossy batter into the pan, smoothing it out with a spatula, your hands steady despite the wild beating of your heart.

As the brownies baked, the aroma filled the kitchen, rich and heady, curling around you like a dark, enticing promise. You found yourself imagining how Alastor would react when you presented them to him, how he might lean in close again, his sharp eyes studying you with that same hunger you had seen earlier. Would he be able to sense the emotions you had poured into every step of this creation, the longing that had driven you to seek him out?

Once the brownies had cooled, you carefully cut them into neat squares, arranging them on a plate. The sight of them, so dark and tempting, filled you with a strange sense of satisfaction. You could only hope that they would have the desired effect on Alastor, that he would understand the message hidden within the folds of rich chocolate.

With the plate in hand, you made your way through the winding halls of the Hazbin Hotel, each step bringing you closer to the man who had left you in such a state of turmoil. The hotel was quiet, the usual chaos subdued in these early hours, allowing your thoughts to swirl unchecked. The closer you got to the radio tower, the more your anticipation grew, your heart pounding in time with your footsteps as you climbed the stairs to the roof.

Finally, you reached the door to the radio tower, a place that was as much a part of Alastor as the suit he always wore. You hesitated momentarily, the plate of brownies warm in your hands, the reality of what you were about to do sinking in. But the memory of his closeness, the tension that had crackled between you, pushed you forward. You raised your hand and knocked, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor.

The door creaked open, and there he stood, Alastor, with that ever-present smile that could be both charming and unsettling. His red eyes glinted in the low light, and for a moment, the two of you stared at each other, the memory of the morning's encounter hanging heavily between you. Then, with a graceful tilt of his head, he stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter.

"Well, well, what have we here?" he asked, his voice smooth, with an undertone of amusement that sent a shiver down your spine. He eyed the plate in your hands with interest, his gaze flicking back to you, curiosity—and something else—lingering in his expression.

"I thought you might like something to go with your coffee," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady even as your pulse quickened, ignoring the fact that he’d had his coffee over an hour ago. You stepped into the room, the door closing softly behind you, sealing the two of you in the intimate space. He took the plate from your hands, his fingers brushing yours in a way that made your breath hitch.

"Chocolate brownies?" he mused, his tone almost teasing. "You do know me well, my sweet." His smile widened, though there was a sharpness to it now, a glint in his eyes that spoke of a keen awareness of the game you were playing.

As he placed the plate on the small table near his desk, you couldn't help but notice the way his movements were deliberate and overly controlled. He turned back to you, his gaze once again locking onto yours, and you felt the air between you grow thick with the same tension that had crackled in the kitchen. Only this time, it was more intense, more charged with the unspoken desires that had brought you here.

Alastor stepped closer, the space between you shrinking with each measured step. You could feel the heat of him, the magnetic pull that had drawn you to him this morning. His presence was overwhelming, and as he leaned in, his voice dropped to a low, intimate murmur.

"You didn't have to go to all this trouble, darling. But I must say, I'm flattered."

There was no mistaking the intent behind his words, the way they wrapped around you, pulling you deeper into the web he was weaving. Your pulse raced, your body reacting to his sheer proximity, the dark allure of his presence. You could feel the same simmering heat that had driven you to seek him out, now burning brighter, hotter, in the confines of this small room.

He reached out, his fingers trailing along your arm, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"What are you really here for?" he asked, his voice a soft purr laden with meaning. The question hung in the air, heavy and expectant, as if he already knew the answer but wanted to hear it from your lips.

Your mouth was dry, your thoughts a tangled mess of desire and uncertainty. But as his hand came to rest on your waist, pulling you just that little closer, the answer became clear. You had come here not just to deliver brownies but to confront the tension that had been simmering between you, to see if he felt the same electric pull that you did. And as his eyes bore into yours, filled with a hunger that mirrored your own, you knew he did.

The radio tower felt both intimate and suffocating as you stood before Alastor, the heavy air around you thick with the tension that had been building all day. You had come here intending to confront him, to get answers about the strange encounter in the kitchen that morning. But as soon as you stepped inside, you realised that something was terribly wrong. The room was filled with his scent—rich, intoxicating, and overwhelmingly powerful. It invaded your senses, curling around your mind and body, leaving you feeling dizzy and unsteady.

You had heard of this happening before, this surge of uncontrollable desire, but you had never experienced it so intensely. An instinct and power that overwhelmed sinners with certain animalistic traits, and since both you and Alastor were sinners with deer traits, it was only natural what had come to pass. Your heat had begun, and the sudden realisation sent a wave of panic through you. The heat in your body was growing unbearable, every nerve alight with a desperate need you couldn't control. And here you were, standing so close to him, your body betraying you, pulling you toward him as if he were the only thing that could satisfy the fire raging inside you.

You tried to focus on why you were here, trying to form the words that would explain your confusion about what had happened between you this morning. But the scent of him was all-consuming, clouding your thoughts and driving you mad with desire. You could barely speak, your voice catching in your throat as you looked up at him, your eyes wide with a mixture of fear and need.

"Alastor, I… I need to go," you stammered, your voice shaking as you stepped back. You couldn't let him see you like this, couldn't let him know what was happening. It was too humiliating, too raw. But as you turned to leave, you felt his eyes on you, sharp and intense, and you knew he had already figured it out.

The flicker of understanding in his crimson eyes sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to the silent acknowledgement of what was happening. He knew. And worse, he understood because he was feeling it, too. His rut had started, and the primal part of him, the part that thrived on dominance and control, was warring with the more civilised side that knew it wasn't right to keep you here, wasn't right to let the Need within him take over.

You could see the conflict in his eyes. His muscles tensed as he fought to hold himself back, his breath coming in slow, controlled exhalations. For a moment, you thought he might let you go, that he might allow you to escape before things went too far. But there was a hunger in his gaze, a dark, consuming need that made your heart race even faster. And you knew that if you didn't leave now, you might not be able to at all.

With a burst of adrenaline, you turned on your heel and fled the radio tower, your heart pounding in your chest as you bolted down the stairs. The corridors of the Hazbin Hotel twisted and turned as you ran, your footsteps echoing in the empty halls. But no matter how fast you moved, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched, that something was stalking you from the shadows.

The presence was palpable, a dark, looming force that seemed to close in around you, even though you couldn't see him. You knew it was Alastor, that he was there, following you, watching you. The knowledge sent another wave of arousal crashing through you, your body reacting to the chase, to the danger of it all. The thought that he was hunting you, that he could catch you at any moment, only heightened your desire, the heat in your core growing unbearable as you neared your room.

You slammed the door behind you, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you leaned against the wood, trying to calm the frantic beating of your heart. But it was no use. The room felt small, the air thick with the remnants of his scent that had clung to your clothes and skin. Your hands shook as you fumbled to lock the door, knowing deep down that it wouldn't matter. If Alastor wanted to get in, no lock would stop him.

For a moment, there was silence, the kind that presses in on you from all sides, heavy and oppressive. But then, as if summoned by your thoughts, the shadows in the corner of the room began to shift, twisting and writhing as they took form. Your breath hitched as Alastor stepped out from the darkness, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that made your knees weak.

He was in front of you instantly, moving with the fluid grace of a predator closing in on its prey. You backed up instinctively, but there was nowhere to go and hide from the desire radiating from him in waves. His scent was overwhelming now, intoxicating, filling your lungs with every breath you took. It clouded your mind, pushing aside any thoughts of escape, leaving only the raw, primal need that had been driving you since this morning.

Alastor's gaze locked onto yours, and the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you. The tension between you crackles like electricity in the air. His hand found your wrist, pulling you closer with a firm, unyielding grip that sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. His touch was searing, his presence overwhelming, and as his other hand came up to cup your chin, tilting your face up toward his, you knew there was no turning back. The need in his eyes mirrored your own, a dark, consuming fire that threatened to burn you both alive.

You trembled under his touch, the last remnants of your resistance crumbling as you looked up at him, your body screaming for the release that only he could give you. And as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, you knew that you would give in to that need, would surrender to the fire that burned between you, no matter the consequences.

"Tell me to stop. One word and I will, but tell me you desire me as I desire you, and you will be mine for the night and all the nights to come," he whispered his voice a low, dangerous static that sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. But you couldn't, didn't want to. You were too far gone, too consumed by the lust that had been building inside you since the moment you entered the radio tower. Instead, you leaned into him, your body arching against his as you gave yourself over to the heat, to the need, to him.

"Alastor, don't you dare stop," was all you needed to say.

His lips were warm and soft against yours. The kiss was only gentle for a split second before the desire, the Need, overtook both of you. Hands clawed at your clothing, and it did not take long before you could feel his skin against yours. His body heat felt scolding against your skin, making you wonder if he was leaving marks all over your body. His hand travelled down your back as the bottoms of your shirt were opened and pushed down your body. The feeling of his fingertips against your spine felt almost sinful in nature, and you wondered if you would ever be the same.

Alastor pressed you against the wall of your room as he stopped kissing your swollen lips and turned to rain kisses down your neck. In between every kiss, he would stop and drag his teeth or nibble your flesh, making your skin feel raw and hot. Having enough of his attention directed towards your neck, you buried your hands in his thick hair and pulled him back towards your lips. His ears laid flat for a second against your hand but sprang up again after he realised that you did not pull him back in rejection but to encourage him to kiss you again.

As you continued to make out against the wall, you continued to strip each other clumsily. There was no way of being gentle or structured in the heat of passion, and some clothing pieces could be heard ripping, but none of you cared at that moment. However, everything seemed to stop as you felt Alastors hand sneak into your underwear and drag a finger slowly against your wet pussy. You tried to inhale, but your breath was ragged and hitched at your throat.

"My sweet, sweet little dear, are you desperate?" Alastor teased as the tip of his finger slowly started to circle your clit. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you looked back up at the radio daemon. To someone else who did not know Alastor, it would look like he was unaffected by what was happening, but you knew he was far from untouched. His smile ever so slightly wider, pupils blown wide, his shallow breath hot against your skin, and the feeling of his erection pressing against your hipbone.

"Tell me, do you want it here against the wall," he asked, pressing you closer to the wall, "or do you want us to move to the bed?"

"Bed, please." The words whispered against his cheek, but Alastor heard you clear as day. With strength you didn't know he had, he helped you jump up with your legs around his hips as he carried you to the bed behind him. He softly put you down against the soft and cool navy bedsheets, following closely as he laid down over you, encapsulating you between his arms that leaned against the bed, his pelvis pressing against yours between your legs. The meer pressure from his cock against you made your legs shake, and your body feel all tingly.

His lips, his hands, they are all over you, and it’s almost too much. Every touch leaves a feeling behind, almost like a mark, and you revel in the thought of Alastor leaving something behind on you that’ll show everyone that you are his just as he is yours.

Alastors skin is warm, almost scolding hot, under your fingertips as you help him strip from his clothes. You kiss him with desperation you had never felt before as you buck your hips to put pressure on his cock, making him moan against your swollen lips. He presses you down against the bed as you drag your fingers through his soft hair, pulling his head back as you trail wet kisses down his neck. His breath hitches as you find a sensitive spot where the neck meets the shoulder, and as you suck on his tender skin, leaving a small purple mark, you can’t help but feel pride. You pull back and look up at the man above you with smugness. His cheeks had darkened in a soft blush as he panted above you, red lips swollen and eyes almost black with desire.

As if the final mental blockade fell away and all inhibitions flew out the window, you and Alastor tore away each other's clothes. Leaving only tattered pieces of cloth on the bed and claw marks on your bodies. Later, you would wonder if the pulsing and desperate neediness that had built between the both of you had just enhanced what was already there, but for now, you revelled in the warmth and tingling sensation of arousal. You were wet, and you could feel the slickness of your pussy as Alastor removed your underwear at last. The cool air shilled you at the same time it sent waves of pleasure down your thighs.

“Look at you,” Alastor said, his voice husky and laced with desire as he looked down at you. “Such a sweet delight you are—sweet enough to eat.”

As he said those words, Alastor slowly pushed his finger into your vagina, coating his finger in your essence before slowly pulling out. You could not help the moan you let out turn to a gasp as you looked up at him, who started to lick his slick finger clean. His eyes blazed with uncontrollable heat.

“Truly delicious. Come, my sweet, have a taste of yourself.” Alastor put his other hand behind your head and pulled you up from the bed to meet his lips in a messy kiss. His tongue forced itself between your lips, mingling with yours and effectively leaving the taste of yourself on your own tongue.

“Stop being such a tease, Alastor.” You said against his lips when the kiss ended. Your hot breath merged with his as you dragged your hands down his torso. You could feel every muscle jump underneath your fingertips as if they were shocked with electricity as you pulled your hands lower and lower. His pants, opened and barely hanging off his slim hips, weren’t difficult to pull down and made a soft sound as they hit the floor across the room. You gently pressed your thumbs down between his underwear and skin as you slowly pulled them off him. You could feel the goosebumps covering the man above you as your finger glided over his hot skin.

The first time you felt Alastor’s cock against your heated pussy, it made you believe that there was never going to be anyone else after him who could match the feeling. Hot liquid pooled between your legs as you instantly lifted your hips to get even closer, effectively pulling a low moan out of the man's trembling lips.

“Naughty, naughty little doe of mine. Control yourself,” he chuckled as he pressed open mouth kisses against your neck, but you didn’t want to control yourself. You wanted the passion, the heat, the feeling of Alastor pounding inside you as your legs shock from pleasure. And so, letting the instincts take over, you grabbed his cock gently, making Alastor let out a gasp against your shoulder as he gently moved his hips to make his manhood glide back and forth between your fingers. Desperate for the touch and the pleasure you could give him.

“Alastor, please, my dear, I want you inside me. I can’t wait anymore. I need you so badly,” you mumbled against his ear right beside your head, and with every word you said, you could feel Alastor’s teeth and nails dig a little bit deeper into you.

With one single thrust, Alastor entered you after you had aligned him right in front of your opening. It has heaven in Hell, this moment when you first felt him inside you, and your legs instinctually closed around his hips to press him as deep within you as he could go. Everything was heightened. Every touch felt electric, every breath a heave, and every thrust sent a feeling of fullness and belonging inside you. The feeling was addicting, like the sweetest of wine, the nectar from the gods, and it begged and begged for more.

“More, more, Alastor, give me more,” you chanted against his skin as your fingernails dragged long red lines along your lover's back.

“Greedy, oh so greedy, my sweet.” you could feel his smirk against your cheek as he kissed your temple. “You deserve the world.” Was the last thing he said before he pulled away to sit up on his knees. His band quickly found your knees as he prided your legs open and started to slowly and agonisingly thrust into you. You could feel everything. His eyes roaming over your body, the cold air against your heated skin, and his thick cock slowly pushing in and out, filling you, teasing you. It was as if Alastor wanted to drag out your pleasure for as long as possible.

In an instant, Alastor pulled out and flipped you around on your belly with a strength you didn’t know he had. Two strong hands took hold of your trembling hips and lifted them high enough to shove one of the thick pillows underneath. With your hips resting against the pillow and chest against the mattress, Alastor sat up further on his knees, towering over you, as he dressed your legs together with his knees so that your legs were now snuggled together between his thighs. You could feel your cunt flutter in excitement as you bit your lips, waiting for Alastor to enter you again. And he didn’t disappoint.

With one thrust, Alastor buried himself within you again as he bent down to whisper in your ear.

“Is this what my sweet little doe wanted? To be bent over, used, fucked till there isn’t a single thought in that head of yours? Do you want me, my darling? Do you want to be mine?” Every word he whispered was further emphasised with a slow and deep thrust. Pressing you against the pillow. Your finger dug deep into the bedsheets as you pushed your mouth to the mattresses to disguise your primal moan in desperation. But Alastor would have none of it. Instead, his hand snuck underneath your chin and bent your head back, effectively filling the room with the sound of your moans and the slapping against bodies as Alastor continued to fuck you.

“Don’t hide for me. I want to hear every pathetic little sound you make. I want to hear how good I can make my little mate feel.” Those words were the drop that made the goblet overflow and the last thing you need before an orgasm ripped through your body uncontrollably. Your pleasure seemed to snap something inside Alastor, too, for he quickened his pace. Chasing and intensifying both of your pleasures as you pulsed around his cock.

“Yes, yes, yes, your mate. I want to be your mate,” the words came tumbling out of your mouth as your whole body chook from the orgasm that beat within you like stormy waves against a cliffside. Nothing had felt more right than Alastor within you and the thought of being his as he was yours.

Alastor kept thrusting at a quick pace as your orgasm started to subside, but a new pleasure hummed with pride within you as you felt him come inside you. With every throbbing of his cock, Alastor’s nails dug deeper and deeper within the mattresses until he tore them apart.

Shaking, sweaty and tired, you let out one last moan as Alastor put all his weight against you as he lay above you, pressing you against the mattresses. You could feel his hot lips against your neck as he said,

“Well, aren’t my sweet little mate full of surprises?”

Well, would you look at that! I'm back! Did you miss me?

Jokes aside, I hope you enjoyed this smutty little story!

Hazbin gen. taglist: @reath-solia @everwolf-20 @alastorthirsty1

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x you #x reader #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x you #alastor smut #alastor x reader smut #hazbin hotel smut

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simply-ivanka · 6 months ago

Text

This packs a punch.

“In his speech in Arizona endorsing Trump, Kennedy said:

“The DNC deployed aligned judges to throw me and other candidates off the ballot and to throw President Trump in jail. It ran a sham primary that was rigged to prevent any serious challenge to President Biden. Then, when a predictably bungled debate performance precipitated the palace coup against President Biden, the same shadowy DNC operatives appointed his successor, also without an election. They installed a candidate who was so unpopular with voters that she dropped out in 2020 without winning a single delegate,” Kennedy said.

“My uncle and my father both relished debate. They prided themselves on their capacity to go toe-to-toe with any opponent in the battle over ideas. They would be astonished to learn of a Democratic Party presidential nominee who, like Vice President Harris, has not appeared in a single interview or unscripted encounter with voters for 35 days. This is profoundly undemocratic. How are people to choose when they don’t know whom they are choosing, and how must this look to the rest of the world?”

#robert kennedy jr

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paperbackribs · 20 days ago

Text

Eddie is crouched against skull rock, everyone talking around him about fantastical creatures and he can barely breathe as they discuss terrible things like they're normal happenings.

Max has earphones resting at her collarbone and Eddie thinks he might go crazy with every opening beat from Kate Bush that he can only just hear over their planning, but somehow that still makes it worse.

His breath is wheezing in and out when he feels a heavy hand land on his shoulder.

"Are you alright, man," Steve Harrington asks him in the forest clearing like it's natural for the king to talk to the freak. He easily squats down, knee to knee with Eddie and regards him with a steady gaze. "This is pretty fucked, right?"

Eddie laughs wetly, rubbing at the corner of his eye even as he fiercely hopes that it stays dry. "Fucking A, yeah."

It's Steve's turn to be amused, exhaling in a short puff like he hadn't expected that Eddie would make him laugh. Especially, he muses darkly, in the middle of a man hunt against him.

"We'll get Vecna," Steve promises, looking down the barrel of Eddie's panic that will be soon to rise. "We always get 'em."

And it's the darndest thing, especially for Eddie who's open to the fantastical but closed to hope in the real world, but he believes him.

Steve stretches out an arm, resting his palm over the back of Eddie's hand, the sensation as new as he wants it to be familiar, and Eddie feels himself unlock, unfurling like a bloom turning to the sun that is Steve.

"You promise?" It's ridiculous. Eddie knows how stupid it is to ask a mortal boy to vow that their awful adventures will result in a happy ending. But gods' blood above, Eddie feels like a blessing now will unravel an unexpected truth within.

A moment passes. A millisecond. A half of a half of a half, but Steve regards him with a heavy weight. His hand rising and thumb barely grazing his cheekbone, "I promise, Eddie Munson. You will live beyond this moment. You will survive and thrive and leave this piss-ant town behind. I promise. I goddamn swear that I will make it happen if it's the last thing I do in this life."

Steve's eyes are blazing. In the dim light of the shadowy trees, Eddie is hopeless but to fall under his words and believe the earnest beat of them.

And, even after he wakes up one hundred days earlier, he has no idea why he has the vague feeling that if he encounters Steve Harrington today that he should trust him.

But he will.

#time travel #time loop #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson

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superfreakfranky · 11 days ago

Text

A siren.

A temptation.

And you're the only one to hear it.

Zoro offers to keep you safe from plunging overboard and things get...heated.

Cw: 🔞 afab, mentions of a history of abuse, kissing, nudity, lap sitting, dirty talk, spanking, oral (you receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, (I see a theme here in my writing...🤙🏻)

On his way to the kitchen, Luffy finds you peering over the deck rail.

Half asleep, he blinks at you.

Weird.

It's 4am.

"Did ya see somethin'?"

It's as if you didn't hear him. There one moment, then you're gone.

The screaming wakes Zoro.

"I can't save her! Guys! Please!"

And Zoro's moving quickly. Captain calls, he answers.

You're overboard, jumped, according to Luffy.

Without blinking, Zoro goes in after you.

He reaches for you in the shadowy water, comes up short.

There's something down there. Something almost pulling you deeper.

He gets to you finally, pure adrenaline pushing him on.

Your nails break skin when you surface.

"Oi, damn it! What the Hell?"

Your eyes are glazed, you're frantic in his arms.

"Please, let me go. They need me."

"Quit talking crazy. Get on the boat."

It's almost a workout strongarming you back up as you fight him. You're so damn determined to go back under, he has to almost restrain you - which is near impossible while treading water.

Finally, Luffy grabs you, pulls you up, starts screaming a lecture at you.

The sun's not up yet.

Zoro climbs aboard again, soaked and annoyed.

With the ruckus, the whole crew's on deck now. Zoro seeks the eye of Chopper.

"Look her over, would ya? Something's not right."

You're fighting Luffy as well, Zoro stripping from his wet shirt and ringing it out as he observes.

How odd.

Luffy tightens his grip. "Damn it. Stop. I don't wanna hurt you, okay?"

Chopper examines your eyes first, notices the glazed over pupils.

"Oh, shit..." His hooves grab your hands, turn your palms up.

A mark. A single red mark, but a symbol.

The crew steps forward, eager to know what woke them so early.

Usopp flails, falls to the deck.

"Oh no! It's real! Everybody inside. Panic!!"

"What the Hell is that?" Franky speaks first.

"It's the mark of a siren. She must've been on deck," Chopper informs the crew.

"Now that you mention it, I had heard a story about these waters, but it just sounded like some old pirate ghost story. No way!" Nami gasps.

"Luffy, bring her into the infirmary. We need to tie her down." Chopper demands.

"Right!"

Usopp pulls some wrap put of his pocket, makes quick work of tying your wrists.

Zoro stills.

He knows your history. Knows how they found you.

"Wouldn't that be a bit inhumane?"

Chopper's lips purse. The crew stills, eyes downcast as they remember your first encounter. The rope burns. The agony.

Zoro just remembers your eyes; how you pleaded for help.

He could save anyone - but the horrors done to you by that monster that called himself a man - those memories stay. Nothing could be done about that.

"We don't have another option," comes Chopper's voice.

"I've got her."

The doctor hums at Zoro, looks away.

"Fine. Your way first. But, if not, we need to tie her up until we're through these waters."

You're thrashing still, tearful and begging to get the ties off your wrists.

When Zoro steps in your view, the fog clears for a bit.

His calloused hands untie the restraints. Your gaze is glued to the movement, trails up his forearms, then to his face as he steadies you.

He almost thinks he sees a flash of something in your eyes, but it's gone again.

"I'm taking her to the crow's nest. Far enough away from the water."

The crew doesn't argue. Maybe they're too tired.

"Make her something to eat," Luffy demands. "That'll fix her right up!"

If only.

"I'll look through some of my books I got at the last port. Maybe I'll find something useful," Chopper suggests.

It's going to be a long day.

---

"Oi, just quit your thrashing. You're impossible."

He's got one big arm around you, his other lifting a large barbell.

The Hell you're going to disrupt his plans for the day.

He'd trusted you to sit and wait for him to get a workout in, but the second you were out of his grasp, you were booking it for the deck.

And he refuses to fail.

Refuses to let them tie you down.

Or worse - that damned cook be tasked with guarding you.

So you're sat in his lap for now.

---

"Can I please just shower? I smell like seawater and your sweat."

He's blushing.

"Now how are we going to do that?"

"I don't know! You need one, too! You stink."

Eyebrows furrowed, he frowns, a slight growl at his next exhale.

"Fine."

...

Back turned as he sits on the ledge of the tub, he huffs a breath as he hears you bathing behind him.

"How do I know you're not gonna drown yourself or something?"

Could sirens take you in any water? He didn't want to ask.

At his words, you pause. And then he feels your small hand slip between his calloused fingers.

You finish bathing this way.

He's silent the rest of the afternoon.

---

"Distract me."

It's a lucid moment for you. As the night draws near, you've gotten antsy. He's had to rest you in his lap again, hold you back periodically.

It's like you're hearing someone calling you in the silence.

It's eerie.

The others have left you alone, as if it's contagious or something.

"Hm? What'd'ya mean?"

"Please, Zoro."

And he'd do anything to stop this; can see you're suffering.

"The sun's about to set. Please. One more night, it's all I need to get through. I'm scared."

"...Okay."

You shift in his lap. He allows it.

"What do we do?"

Your eyes travel down to his lips then back up.

Oh.

"I just need my mind elsewhere."

Your hands trail down his chest. His sharp inhale urges you on

"Mhm."

You slide your leg over, straddle him now.

"Just a small distraction."

"It's not small," is his response.

Your gaze flicks up again and he sees a hunger in you like he's never seen before.

"This alright?" He asks, his fingers grazing your hip.

"Mhm."

"And this?" Hands trail up your torso, lifting the hem of your shirt.

"Yes."

He pulls it off and tosses the shirt, then leans toward your neck.

"This, too?" His voice is low, the moment more intimate than ever.

All that time with you fussing around in his lap today, he's a bit worked up, though he won't admit it.

You needed some help, and he was there to give it.

He captures your lips in seconds, feels you arch toward him.

His hands trace up your back, dragging chill bumps with them.

"Get this damn thing off," he mutters against your lips, fingers fidgeting with the clasp of your bra.

In one fluid movement, the bra drops to the floor.

Without warning, you grind your hips, eliciting a moan from him.

He's hard.

He feels huge, you think.

The chemistry between you is palpable.

"Distraction, huh?" He mutters. "Okay." He shifts his weight, tackling you to the floor. Your back hits as you exhale sharply. Zoro takes in your topless form, strips off his shirt, then returns to hover his body over yours.

His greedy mouth traces across your skin, hesitating before twirling his tongue around your left nipple, a hand groping your right breast; just a pause before he continues down your torso

He snakes his fingers under the waistband of your pants, shoves them down and off. You catch a slight smirk before he drags his teeth over your skin, begins pulling your panties down with his mouth.

"A distraction, I can do," he speaks against your skin.

You raise your hips when he kisses between your legs; already so sensitive for him.

And Zoro eats you out like he's a starved man. He listens for every hitch of breath, every whispered prompt, every twitch of muscles until you're cumming all over his tongue.

He's straining against his pants, cock leaking as he anticipates what's next.

You look so satisfied, blissed out on the wood floor - glazed look different from the one he saw earlier.

Thumb still pressed against your clit, he gazes up at you.

"Think you're ready for me?"

Mouth agape, you almost look combative, so he starts rubbing slow circles with his thumb.

You're speechless - which is a feat, he thinks.

When he stands, you get a good view of his tented pants.

Towering over you, pointed gaze, you see his jaw clench.

"Up," he demands.

You feel exposed, sprawled out on the floor like this.

Without him touching you, that glazed look returns and he watches your attention snap to the ladder.

He grips your hand, pulls you from your daze. Zoro guides you to the bench seats.

"Bend," he commands.

You do without a second thought.

He enjoys that you obey.

Good.

When you hear him step out of his pants, you gaze behind you, desperate to catch a glimpse.

"What, are you worried?" He chuckles. "I'll take care of you."

He grabs a handful of your ass in one hand, smacks the other cheek with his other.

Fingers find your clit again, a whisper of a touch until he's burying his fingers inside of you.

You whimper, almost begging for something else.

"Settle down," he demands, voice monotone.

"Sorry," you whisper. "Just want you."

That humors him. "I know." He slips his fingers out, slides his cock between your folds. You moan at the sensation. "We've gotta keep you occupied all night, remember?"

He punctuates the sentence with a smooth thrust into you, the foreplay allowing you to take him really well. He's impressed.

When he's fully in you, he leans his head back and groans. His balls tighten at the sensation, but he takes a breath and starts a slow pace, making sure you feel every inch of him.

Holding onto the back of the bench seat, you roll your hips back against him.

And, fuck, if he isn't mesmerized by how you look together.

His grip on your hips tightens before he smacks your ass once, twice.

Bending himself over your back, he places his hands on top of yours and ruts harshly into you.

You feel protected, safe, treasured for the first time in a long time.

He's hitting a spot inside of you that's driving you crazy.

Zoro doesn't stop this pace until he feels you tightening around him. A low hum meets your ears, a chuckle rumbling in his chest.

"That's it. Make a mess of me."

You couldn't fight it if you tried.

You come with a moan of his name.

"My turn," Zoro grunts, plopping down in the bench seat, you two still connected. He lifts you with ease, making you rise and fall on his cock at the speed he desires.

Your head leans back against his shoulder so he nips at your neck. The deep thrusting makes him slow down, enjoy.

His hands wander, fondling your breasts as he fucks you.

You arch back, grab at his hair, try to catch his lips to kiss him.

He's silent, focused, taunting and teasing long gone which you can only assume means one thing.

"Where do you want to cum?" You ask.

A few soft huffed breaths leave him.

"What makes you think I'm close?"

You smile at this, rock back against him.

"Just a hunch."

When you yank his hair, he lets out a moan, purses his lips.

"You want to fill me, don't you?" You taunt. "Watch it drip out of me, so full of you..."

Your words seem to be doing something to him, though he remains silent.

He's letting you take the lead on the pace, though his hands grip your hips now, guiding you on.

Grinding back against him, you lace your fingers between his, move your hands between your legs, feel him there on your clit.

When your free hand, you lightly touch his balls as he fucks up into you.

A choked moan leaves him at the sensation.

"For fuck's sake," he scolds. "Gonna cum in you."

"In me, on my tits, up to you..." You laugh.

The thought of his cum dripping out of you - of someone catching you in this position right now - sends him over the edge.

He buries his face in your neck, pants out a moan as you feel him spilling inside of you.

You sigh, leaning back against him, and running your fingers through his hair.

"Gonna need that about five more times tonight, swordsman."

He chuckles. "Is that all?" He breathes deeply, content. "Bet ya can't keep up."

You're instantly up, turning to straddle him. Your hands trail over his abs, making his cock twitch to life again.

When your grip settles on his biceps, you catch his lips in a deep kiss.

"Try me."

---

The crew had agreed to sail through the night.

They'll assume Zoro's naps today are because he stayed up all night watching you.

Which...they're not wrong.

He watched you ride his cock.

He watched you pleasure yourself while he worked out.

He watched you get on your knees for him, swallow him down.

He watched you start to nod off in his arms as he fucked you for the fourth time.

"Knew you couldn't take it," he taunted, stroking his fingers down your cheek.

"Not sleeping, just enjoying," you insisted, but your voice was laced with exhaustion. "Almost sunrise."

He hummed. "Good excuse to get some alone time."

"At the mercy of a siren's song. Nice, Zoro..." You rolled your eyes.

"Not used to this, but it turns out, it's a great outlet between battles."

You laugh. "Odd. You're so odd."

"I could stop," he teases.

"You could not," you whine.

---

Sunrise.

You're sound asleep on the floor as Zoro finishes another workout.

He watches the light on the water, hears someone climbing up the ladder.

You're in his shirt, but Chopper doesn't say anything.

"How is she?" He whispers.

"She's fine," he assures with a yawn, does another rep. "I took good care of her."

"Good," Chopper nods, unaware of his meaning. "Those sirens can be nasty."

"Mhm. Real nasty."

"Let her sleep. I'll have Sanji bring you guys some food."

The cook would know immediately what happened here.

"I'll bring her down when she's ready. Tell Sanji he's on call."

With a nod, the doctor descends the ladder and Zoro watches you with tired eyes.

Hell of a night, that was for sure.

He checks your palms, the siren's mark fading as the sun comes in.

Gone like a dream, but what a dream it was.

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